


Into You

by SupposedToBeWriting



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: A Fundamental Optimism about Starfleet, AU - Lieutenant Kirk and Lieutenant Spock aboard the Enterprise, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Featuring Captain Pike, M/M, POV Spock (Star Trek), Slow Burn, Stranded, They Fuck Up A Lot, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-07 22:22:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 54,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21465484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupposedToBeWriting/pseuds/SupposedToBeWriting
Summary: Lieutenant (junior grade) Kirk and Lieutenant (also junior grade) Spock aren't the best of friends. In fact, they don't like each other very much at all. Spock has too much on his plate (being one of two Vulcans on a starship, his looming betrothal, his own internal wrestle with identity and duty) to be patient with the illogical, insensitive human. But when the pair get stranded on an island planet together, they must learn to work together - and discover the dark secret that the island is hiding.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 79
Kudos: 468





	1. Rain

“But _sir_,” Lieutenant (junior grade) Kirk’s voice protested from behind them, whiny and insubordinate – at least to Lieutenant (also junior grade) Spock’s ears. His uniform had stopped providing resistance to the rain four hours ago, and he could feel each drop of water beat against his skin. That did not help Spock’s mood.

The downpour had started approximately five seconds after they had beamed down onto the class-M planet. It was mostly characterized by islands (small dots of green forest on a big blue ocean) and volcanoes (large dots of red rock on the same big blue ocean). They were exploring one of the smaller dots on this away mission, located approximately 50 kilometers away from the largest volcano on the island. Spock only assumed that to be the true from the scan, because he could hardly see the structure across the ocean. The ocean disappeared over the horizon, making the island feel incredibly isolated.

The scan of the world was still clear in Spock’s head. A prim, pretty three dimensional figure which hadn’t properly displayed the cascade of rain they’d be experiencing during their six hours, fifty-one minutes, and fourteen seconds they’d been here. “If we could just go _deeper _into the jungle, we might be able to find evidence of civilization. You can’t just say that we haven’t found any evidence of advanced life when we’ve barely –”

“I can and _will _say that, Lieutenant. We’re going home.” Lieutenant Commander Piger returned, annoyance clear. Spock agreed with that sentiment enthusiastically, even as he kept his face impassive. He hadn’t talked much on this mission. The two humans had covered that. Water streamed down the curve of his forehead and the tips of his ears, threatening the inside of his ear canal. _Wet, _the animalistic part of his brain returned to him, _Wet bad. _

He contented himself with thinking that, some thousands of years earlier before Surak, this would have been ample reason to go on an emotional rampage. Look how far the species had come. “We came, we saw, we conquer this planet in the name of the United Fucking Federation of Planets. Let’s get back to the _Enterprise.” _

Hardly professional. Spock wasn’t surprised. Piger was not a very patient man. He would have been most content in a desk Admiralty position, but the irony was that he would never be enterprising enough to _make _it to admiralty.

Still, he had never been personally rude or invasive to Spock, which was more than he could say for the trailing, yellow-shirted Lieutenant behind him.

“No, okay – majority rules. Lieutenant Spock – _Ears,” _he insisted when Spock continued trekking back towards the edge of the sand, towards the beam point. “Back me up here. We stay. Another hour.”

“Kirk. This ship doesn’t operate on _majority _rules. It operates on the order given by a senior officer.” Commander Piger pointed towards himself. “Me. And I say we’ve searched enough, we’re beaming back up.”

Jim settled into a sulk. Spock agreed with his general principles. Lieutenant Commander Piger _hadn’t _performed a satisfactory examination of the planet, and there very well could be advanced life that they simply had not observed.

_However_, Jim had been pressing at him for the better part of an hour, only to hit a brick wall each time. The Lieutenant Commander had spoken. Spock was not going to press the issue any longer.

Also, Spock did not like Lieutenant Kirk very much, and sharing an opinion with him was aggravating.

Illogically so. To use a human expression, Jim was getting under his skin.

They stepped out onto the damp sand of the beach. Even with his boots meeting regulation, the sand had still seeped into the top as his feet sank into the muck, rubbing uncomfortably against his calf. This sand was white (brown, now, with the rain), extending out into the churning, chaotic ocean. The planet scans informed him that there were more islands, somewhere out there. Here, though, it was easy to fancifully, irrationally imagine that this was the only island on the entire planet.

It made him think of Vulcan, of the red seas and the brown sands and the sun, and he would not let himself miss his home. He had not been on Vulcan for six years, since the day that he left. Part of him wondered if he would ever return to it, to hear the winds howl through the valleys. _Then again, _Spock thought dourly, _you may have to return for your wedding. Not a joyous occasion. _

A chilling thought, made only gloomier by the downpour around them. Spock’s shoulders slumped imperceptibly to his companions, until he was startled by a hand clapping down on his shoulder. He looked back to see Lieutenant Commander Piger.

“Why can’t you be more like Spock, Kirk? Take the Vulcan vow of silence and all. Might endear you more to senior officers.”

Spock’s eyes travelled up to Piger’s face, and then to meet Kirk’s. _Vulcan vow of silence? _In Kirk’s face, he saw the look of a man who was _pretty _sure that there was no such thing as a Vulcan vow of silence, but was hardly going to challenge such an assertion in front of a living, breathing Vulcan.

“No such concept exists, sir,” Spock replied dutifully. “I have nothing to contribute, as Lieutenant Kirk reiterated his argument with very little variation for forty-six minutes.”

That made Piger laugh, at least, and Spock felt daggers being glared into his back as he turned around to face the sea. He wasn’t bothered by it. He did not _like _Lieutenant Kirk, but he would not let that impact his values and objectives. He would fulfill his duties. His obligations.

Somehow, the traditional Vulcan matrimonial refrain entered into his head, and refused to leave. _I pledge myself to thee, as our betrothal duties demand … _

“USS Enterprise to transporter room,” Lieutenant Commander Piger grumbled into his communicator, “Three to beam up.”

-

The transporter room was somewhat cooler and less humid than the tropical planet. Spock did not think he could experience a more mildly unpleasant sensation than warm rainwater dripping down his spine, but somehow, it grew worse as he felt _cold _water start to trail down his back. Despite his composure, he shivered once and then went still. Lieutenant Kirk immediately stepped forward, locking eyes on Captain Pike.

“Sir, if we could just – “

“Lieutenant Spock,” Pike interrupted with a twinkle in his eye. “Would you mind informing our Lieutenant Kirk who needs to give the debriefing upon return from an away mission?”

Spock admired the Captain, had been since he was first taken onto this vessel. He was almost debilitatingly hard-working, but nonetheless a steadfast and warm Captain. When he had made the common human error of going for a hand-shake during their first meeting, Spock had politely corrected and taught Pike the traditional greeting. Pike had chuckled, apologized, and mimicked it badly. The Captain was not a friend, but Spock trusted him. 

Still, he had noticed a different kind of closeness between Jim and Pike. Where most Captains would punish or even berate Jim for some of his more _creative _decisions, Pike treated him with the kindness and warmth expected of a …

Well. A father. A human one anyway.

Another irrational reason to dislike Lieutenant Kirk. Certainly, he could frame it as nepotism being anathema to Starfleet values, but he knew the core of it, the origin of it, was nothing more than toxic, illogical jealousy. His own father had never treated him in such a fashion, and neither had Pike.

“The senior officer on the away team, sir,” Spock chirped with something resembling cheer. “Which would be Lieutenant Commander Piger.’

“Good. So hold your questions until the end, Jim.”

Jim flushed red, and Spock suspected he was biting the inside of his cheek. He stepped back into line, and Spock could not resist a glance at him – _told you. _Smug, Lieutenant Commander Piger stepped forward in his stead.

It was then that Spock realized that Pike, and the transporter chief besides, was trying hard not to laugh. Pike was not _quite _meeting their eyes. Spock realized that they must’ve looked a sight, birthing a small pond on the base of the transporter pad. Jim reached for the edge of his uniform, twisted it, and squeezed it, causing another small waterfall. Piger’s shirt looked to be two sizes too big for him, so laden with water as it was. Spock shifted his weight, and his boots squeaked with water.

“It was one of the more taxing missions,” Piger started, stepping forward. “We took a brief survey of the island. Didn’t happen to see any sign of civilization, certainly nothing advanced. ‘Course, we started to worry about our health the longer we were out there. Didn’t want to bring the flu onto the Enterprise.”

“Of course, of course.”

“And with Lieutenant Spock, you know how Vulcans are sensitive to cold and water.”

Spock did not think he really enjoyed being used as an excuse. He pondered over the relative advantages of interrupting a senior officer versus pleading his case that, while uncomfortable, it was not _incapacitating. _Eventually, he decided to obey protocol and remain quiet.

“I think we can safely say that there aren’t any signs of advanced life down there. Just jungle and beach.”

Jim was clearly occupying his time by scuffing his boot on the floor. “And volcanoes,” he muttered insubordinately.

“You sure you don’t want to explore further, Commander?” Captain Pike asked curiously, hands still on his hips. “Might look good to add a First Contact to your record.” It was said in mild jest, and Spock added it to the growing repertoire of ‘_Human Jokes_’ inside his mind.

“What I want to do, Captain, is to take a nice sonic shower and to have a few days of leave. There’s nothing down on the planet.” Piger seemed to hesitate, sucking at his teeth before he turned to Spock. “That’s what you’d call _statistically likely, _eh, Lieutenant? That there’s no advanced life down there?”

A pause in the conversation indicated that the question was not rhetorical. Spock took an unsteady breath. “It isn’t statistically likely for a planet to bear _any_ life. The probability that a planet is close enough to a star, large enough, and contains a nutrient source? Infinitesimally small. An anomaly. The development of an advanced society is even rarer.”

“See there, Captain? Just like he said. We found an _anomaly. _I think that’s worthy of a few days of leave, don’t you think?”

Pike laughed, and Spock felt something flutter in him. He had participated in something _amusing. _He had succeeded in a conversation. And laughter indicated that people liked him. That was good. Socialization was mandatory on a starship, if one wanted to retain their full mental faculties. And, when the starship was mostly composed of humans, socialization was a constant obstacle for him.

Sarek would have been very disappointed in the fact that he had made someone laugh, or at least helped someone make someone else laugh. That made him smug.

When he saw Jim behind him, scowling, he actually felt himself puff his chest out slightly.

Self-righteousness was the hamartia of the Vulcan people, and Spock had not escaped its looming grasp. Even if he agreed with Jim’s point, that their work had been unsatisfactory, he let himself be temporarily caught in the moment of socialization. He would reflect on it, later.

“Alright, alright. You’ve twisted my arm. We’re going to be hurtling through God’s Fountain Ink for the next couple of days, so we don’t need all hands on deck. And we aren’t leaving until the morning, anyway, once we get our ducks in a row. Lieutenants Kirk, Spock, contact your superior officers to find someone to replace you at the phaser station and science labs. Piger, we’ll make do without you.”

Leave? For a few days? _That _was unnecessary. Spock settled back on his feet, tilting his head. “Captain, I do not require leave from my duties. I am perfectly capable of completing them, and not debilitated in any way.”

“_Yeah,” _Jim said next to him, stepping forward. He was a little too close to Spock’s shoulder. “It’s just a little water, Chr – Captain Pike. I’ll take a shower and be good to go.”

“Do you remember your days of being a young man, Piger? I miss it. Lieutenant Spock, I know for a fact that you haven’t had a day off since you got your promotion. Consider it a late celebration.” The promotion from ensign to lieutenant junior grade had occurred a little over a month ago. There had been congratulations expressed to him; he had called his mother. Spock had not even considered time off. It had been unnecessary and frankly illogical, to take time off just as he had received more urgent, important duties. _Still. _It felt … lazy, to take time to himself now.

Pike turned to Jim, gesturing towards him with a finger. “And _you _haven’t had time to explore the ship properly, yet. See everything that the Enterprise has to offer.” Jim pulled an about-face. He had only been on the ship for three weeks, so that he made such a negative impression on Spock was really quite remarkable. “You will both be thanking me years down the line, when we’re in the thick of it and you feel more comfortable at your stations than in your beds. Three days. I don’t want to see hide nor hair of either of you. That understood?”

That was close to a direct order. Spock looked down at the ground.

“Yes, sir.” “Yes, sir.”

His gaze snapped up to look at Jim when they responded in unison and Jim returned his look calmly.

Sometimes, he wondered if the general annoyance and frustration he felt with the other Lieutenant was returned to him. He thought that perhaps might be the case. Humans were emotional, irrational. No, Spock decided to himself, Jim must dislike him a _lot _more than Spock disliked him, because he was a logical being and Jim was illogical and probably despised him for it.

“Alright, then. You two are dismissed. You’ve got three days to yourself, too, Piger. All of you get some rest and return to your stations in a few days.” Lieutenant Commander Piger stepped down, clearly eager to get the water off him. Spock shared that opinion. _Deeply. _

Perhaps tonight, he would have dinner with the only other Vulcan on this vessel – a scientist, several years older than him, named T’Pris. She remained more firmly entrenched in the Vulcan ways than he could ever hope to be, and yet, she was not harsh to him. They did not talk about the circumstances that led him to being on board this vessel, and not settled somewhere on Vulcan. Indeed, he found her to be remarkably kind (but not passionately so) and hard-working (but not in a way that indicated crippling pride).

She was beautiful, too, keeping her hair in the traditional Vulcan style that clearly defined her ears. T’Pris had no doubts about her identity or her connection to Vulcan culture. Her husband had died some years earlier and she expressed no interest in returning to Vulcan, aside from the traditional funeral rites, because of her duties to Starfleet. Indeed, she seemed content to remain in Starfleet until she reached the age of retirement.

That, along with the fact that she offered to bond with him so Spock could escape his previous betrothal, was what made the entire matter so troubling.

After Lieutenant Kirk had left the transporter room, Captain Pike’s hand pressed against his shoulder. “After you get showered and dressed,” he requested, “A message was left for you while you were gone. It’s from Vulcan.”

“I imagined as much,” Spock returned, grim. “I know who it was.”

Only two people ever called him from Vulcan. One was his mother, and she had the respect to wait until his shift duties were over until she contacted him. He had gifted her with a watch, calibrated to the precise shipboard time, on her last birthday. Although it had felt self-serving, perhaps even arrogant, she had shed tears and pulled him into a tight hug when she received it.

The other was not his father.

The other was T’Pring.


	2. Betrothal Bliss

Spock wore traditional Vulcan robes after his sonic shower, seated in front of a viewscreen. He had made sure that the room would be empty when he returned T’Pring’s message. Not that he was particularly embarrassed about the robes, but he did not anticipate this message would go well. He enjoyed his personal life remaining private, but he did not think T’Pring shared the same respect.

He only dimly remembered the betrothal ceremony. He had been eight, after all. The robes had been formal and itchy, and Spock had been cross because his pet _sehlat, _I-Chaya was not permitted to attend. T’Pring had been there, also at the young age of eight with her hair piled high on her head. She had stood and recited what she needed to. She did not fidget, unlike Spock, and had made polite small talk with him after the ceremony.

After, he had asked his mother why this had to be. He did not like T’Pring. She teased him, along with the other children. Despite her highly regarded status, Spock had no urge to bond with her.

His mother had hesitated, before saying, “Well, Spock, when two Vulcans – or a Vulcan and a human – or, I suppose, any two or three or however many sentient beings, really – love each other, very much –” To which Spock had interrupted to inquire about love, and then, mercifully for his mother, the conversation had shifted.

And now, at the age of twenty-two, his betrothed was on the viewscreen.

“_Sa-kugalsu _Spock,” T’Pring addressed him when she appeared, looking much the same as when Spock had last seen her. She had called two months ago, when he still had the rank of ensign. Her hand raised in greeting. “_Dif-tor heh smusma_.”

“Peace and long life, _ko-kugalsu_ T’Pring.” Spock returned to his betrothed stiffly. “I apologize for the delay in response. I was fulfilling my duties to Starfleet.” Was this the time to announce his promotion? He decided against it. “What is the reason for your communication?”

“I need a reason to contact my betrothed?” Although her face remained impassive, Spock thought he saw something cruel flash in her eyes. “Last time, I requested a return date when you intend to return and fulfill your bonding oath. You informed me you would have a date when we spoke next.”

“That is an inaccurate recollection of my words. I informed you that I would contact you when I had a precise date.”

“And you have contacted me, now. You were the one to start the communication.”

Spock had to force himself not to groan already. She was technically correct, certainly, but not _wholly _correct, and she quite knew the difference but refused to admit it. Rather than face an argument over the differences, Spock continued. “The difficulty I have experienced in choosing a date still remains. My duties for Starfleet preclude me from visiting Vulcan at this moment in time. I know it is an inconvenience, but trust that it is an inconvenience to me as well as you.”

“It’s inaccurate to say that the inconvenience is equal. Most bond at _twenty _years of age, Spock. You and I are twenty-two. You and I should be on Vulcan with an infant at this point in our lives.”

What a frightening thought.

“You are unnecessarily inspiring shame in your house.” T’Pring paused, hesitated, and then – _then! – _a shadow of a smirk. “More shame.”

At that point, Spock felt that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the galaxy than aboard the Enterprise for the rest of his life. Even with annoying Lieutenant Kirk and lazy Lieutenant Commander Piger and lenient Captain Pike. Perhaps bonding to T’Pris would not be terrible, if it allowed him to escape life on Vulcan.

“Why do you ignore your duty to me, Spock? To your people? Why do you want to inspire anger in us?”

Spock felt a stab of guilt directly in his chest. “I am not ignoring my duty. Rest assured that I am aware of it. Currently, it is opposed to my duties of Starfleet. I cannot shun one and embrace the other.”

“You did not consider that, when you turned your back on your house and fled?”

_I did not flee, _Spock wanted to argue, stubbornly. _I made a choice. _

“Regardless of my decisions of the past, the problem is still here. There will be a time when I have no choice but to return to Vulcan, T’Pring. And you.”

“You are not speaking of _Pon Farr?” _

“I am.”

“It is two years late already.”

“The physicians are confident that it will arrive, though to be more precise, they could not say.” It was difficult enough to find a physician that knew of _Pon Farr, _at least beyond its most elementary symptoms. “Starfleet will grant me medical leave to return to you. We will bond –”

“While you are in your blood fever? Barely coherent? _Angry?_” The word was flung at him as if it were trash.

“It can be _done.” _Spock knew a tone had entered his voice, and he restrained it. _Peace. _“I will return to you when my _Pon Farr _initiates. So long as our betrothal stands, you have my word on that.”

T’Pring hesitated. Spock knew that she did not like that arrangement, but with Spock whereabouts unknown to her … she had little room for argument. Spock knew _he _had little room for argument. His _Pon Farr _was due to arrive. Tomorrow, five years, ten, but it would arrive, and then Spock would have to return to Vulcan.

To bond.

And to … mate.

He suppressed a shudder. T’Pring was attractive and shrewd, managing several businesses on Vulcan with apparent ease. But Spock also remembered being teased by her as a child, mercilessly mocked when he stumbled over his readings or struggled with his psy abilities. Although that was more than a decade past, it was hard to forget.

“Very well. I shall leave you to your duties and hold you to your word.” The farewell was raised again, and Spock returned it wordlessly until the viewscreen flickered to blackness.

A knot twisted in Spock’s gut. Even when _Pon Farr _arrived, Spock would only be there during its duration and then he would have to leave for his Starfleet duties. Still, a bond would have been formed between them, sacred and difficult to break. He would feel her emotions. Could receive her thoughts. Inexorably, until their deaths, he would be attached to her.

Then there would be the issue of a child. Spock knew she would never allow the child to be raised off-Vulcan, and the Enterprise was not a suitable place for a family, regardless. He would either have to allow T’Pring to raise the child, one-quarter human, on her own or … leave Starfleet and return to Vulcan.

He hoped that _Pon Farr _took its time.

There was another solution.

T’Pris, detached and peaceful but not unkind. She also had no interest in having children, lest it interfere with her work in Starfleet. Spock also privately thought that her mind may be more pleasant than T’Pring’s – for one thing, T’Pris actually _liked _his company. He would not have to choose between his duties to Starfleet or his duties to his family. T’Pring would accept the breaking of the betrothal with gratitude and find someone else easily.

The decision should have been logical. Spock could find very few reasons to argue against bonding with T’Pris (other than, perhaps, going against his family’s wishes). Yet, for reasons unknown to him, he preferred to think of it as little as possible. In fact, the entire conversation put a dark cloud over his mind.

It hurt to be accused of abandoning his duty. He had not forgotten his betrothal, but his duty to Starfleet still needed to be fulfilled. His duty to gain knowledge, to explore new worlds, to … seek out new life.

His memory of the away mission loomed, of the careless search and calling the mission completed. Guilt ate even further at him. Had he failed there? If he could not fulfill his duty to T’Pring _or _to Starfleet, then what good was he?

He would need to meditate. Perhaps if he meditated, purged all the emotions he’d been feeling for the past few hours, then he could consider the rest of his life carefully. _Logically. _He had been struggling with logic ever since he had left Vulcan. It had been a crisis of faith, of culture, of _identity _that he did not know how to manage.

The quarters were shared between him and Lieutenant Kirk, a development that had greatly displeased him when Jim had gotten aboard the ship. One more promotion and he would have his own quarters, which would undoubtedly suit him more. As it was, the quarters themselves were not substandard. They had beds, a few desks, a table and chairs in the center. A replicator sat off in the corner, next to the bookshelf for those that preferred to maintain physical paper copies of their books. And, taking up all of one wall, was a large viewscreen that let them watch the stars go by.

Spock had claimed one corner of the quarters for his meditation mat, which he was currently resting on. He felt his mind begin to clear, the emotions starting to drift further into his subconscious.

_Lieutenant Kirk had been right in his request to further search the island, and I should have insisted upon it._

_If Captain Pike believes you to be deserving of duty leave, then you should take the opportunity to further your intellect and calm your emotions._

_You should bond with T’Pring. It is traditional and is what your house expects of you. You have already elicited grief from them with your rebellion, do not trouble them further. _

Neat. Orderly. Without interference from his emotions. Spock’s body began to go limp as he relaxed, before he was interrupted by a strange … _scrubbing _sound.

He flicked one eye open from his position on his back. Just visible, he saw Jim Kirk in the doorway of their shared bathroom, brushing his teeth. He had turned the light of the bathroom on, spilling out into the relative darkness of the quarters. Spock shut his eyes to convince Jim he had fallen asleep on his meditation mat.

“Can you _believe _Piger today?” Jim asked, toothbrush still clearly in his mouth. “I mean, Jesus Christ, if we’re not here to contact new species – you know, do our jobs – then what the hell are we doing here, right?”

_Logical. Logical, _Spock reminded himself. His dislike for Jim Kirk was not logical. He could not continue his juvenile behavior towards him.

“I agree. Even if the weather conditions were not optimal, we should have travelled some distance into the core of the island itself to search for evidence of advanced life.”

“Yeah, what an asshole.”

“He is our superior officer. Once a direct order was given, there was little we could do.”

“Man, that’s not how it’s supposed to be.” At that point, Spock had opened his eyes and leaned up to a sitting position. “Starfleet doesn’t want us to blindly follow orders. That’s how you get, you know,” He waved his toothbrush around, coating the nearby environment with a small layer of froth. “You know!”

“Genocides,” Spock reasoned. “Massacres, fascism. Tragedies.”

At that, Jim fell silent, but Spock could silently sense he agreed. He continued brushing his teeth with somewhat more force than Spock would recommend odontologically. He appeared to be deep in thought, brow furrowed. Spock pushed himself up from his mat and went to his bed, fearing that his meditation would be cut short for that night.

He had always known that he would have to have a roommate, when he had first been shown his quarters and seen the extra bed. It did not trouble him much; he had had one in the Academy. He did not remember speaking much to his roommate then. Once, he had heard the roommate complaining about his demeanor – _he’s a little creepy, man, he looks like he’d snap and kill everyone someday – _and after, Spock had decided to speak to him a little less.

The quarters were always much too cold for his liking, but he had not raised that issue. Jim was human and his blood temperature was much higher than his own. Unlike away missions, temperature control _was _a democracy, and Spock was outnumbered by Jim’s insipid stubbornness and his grandiose selfishness. It was fine. He settled underneath the blanket of his bunk and folded his arms beneath his head.

The meditation had helped somewhat. He felt more at peace. Tomorrow, he would have lunch tomorrow, perhaps with T’Pris if her schedule permitted. Even if it was not the logical choice to bond with her, he did enjoy her company. It was good to have a reminder of the planet he had left behind, as well. T’Pris visited whenever she had the chance.

And then … he had the day to himself. He would go to one of the observation decks. Read. Perhaps engage in a game of chess. He had his lute with him.

It would even be pleasant.

“No,” Jim muttered as he wiped the froth off his face. Spock heard the bed across the room creak as Jim climbed into it. “It’s not right. Just letting the opportunity for First Contact _go _like that. Not right at all.” He was uncertain if that was being directed to him or not, but Spock nonetheless let out a quiet grunt of agreement. Even if finding the new species would not guarantee formal First Contact, the option had been tantalizing.

There was some shuffling on Jim’s side before he went still. In return, Spock quietly requested to the computer that the lights be turned off. Spock stared up at the ceiling for some time.

_Do what makes you happy, _Spock had remembered his mother telling him, just before he left. After he had triumphantly shown her his decision to join Starfleet. _The Vulcan sense of duty isn’t bad, but – well, the Klingons have that, too, and they still know how to enjoy themselves. You’re so special, Spock, and you deserve to be happy. You know? _

He did not know. He still did not.

He shut his eyes, unaware that that would be the last night he would be spending in his quarters for a long while.


	3. Meanwhile ...

“She had a bit of a rough landin’, Captain, I think that’s what’s done her in,” Scotty explained, clapping his hands together as they both examined one of the shuttles. It was later; Scotty was frankly surprised that he hadn’t gone right to bed yet. The Captain looked tuckered out, to say the least. They were hovering in orbit around the planet. He’d seen it on the scans. Looked nice. If he could get some alcohol down there, it’d make one hell of a shore leave.

So long as he could avoid the volcanoes.

“Not doubting you, but she doesn’t look like she has a scratch on her. She was last down on the, ehm, the …” Pike pinched his nose for a second. Poor wean must have been awfully tired. “The, ah, the quarry. Lerrul V. A month ago.”

“And not had a chance to use her since then, all of you prefer the transporter so. It was the rocks that did her. Here,” Scotty offered. A quick swipe on the panel had the mag-locks settled on the shuttle’s hull. The shuttle tipped to the side. The bottom of the shuttle was badly scratched. At parts, the damage was so bad that Pike could see the inner circuitry of the vehicle. Something was sparking deep within it.

“Ah. Yeah, no. I see the problem now.”

“Technically speaking, it’s the atmosphere regulation system that’s gone to shite. It can take off and land just fine. Might be fine going from starbase to starbase, even. But it can’t handle much shift in atmosphere. First, impulse engine’ll give a bit of trouble. Second, the shielding will go out completely. Then … bits and pieces’ll start popping off.”

“Very pretty phrase for a terrible thing. Alright. Think you can fix it?”

“Only when we pull in next. The part I need isn’t programmed into the replicators. Not to mention the exterior hull. It’ll be a monster and a half, I’ll tell you.”

Pike flashed a grin, thumping Scotty no his shoulder. “If there’s a man alive who can do it, that’ll be you. For now, just take her off active duty. We’ve got plenty others to use, if it comes down to it.”

“Aye, sir. Aye. I’ll leave her alone for the time being. There’s other more urgent repairs that I’ve got to get to.”

“Good. Well, I think that can all start –” Pike broke off in a yawn. “Tomorrow, after we set off. Should be smooth sailing.”

“Now, don’t say that, Captain,” Scotty grinned. “You’re going to jinx it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that's enough for a first update! Updates will come every Sunday.   
Just a few brief notes on the story overall:
> 
> Certain elements (particularly the character of T'Pris) come from the novel Vulcan's Glory (which I ... cannot recommend as a novel).
> 
> My die-on-the-hill opinion is that I dislike most/all of Spock's canon love interests, particularly T'Pris. T'Pris is a character introduced in the novel as an alternative to Spock's betrothed T'Pring, and (spoilers for a quite old novel) ends up getting killed, like, a couple of days into their relationship. I won't Get Into It, but there are many things in the scenario that really, really, really do not work for me.
> 
> SO WHY DID YOU WRITE A NOVEL THAT UTILIZES T'PRIS AS A MINOR BACKGROUND CHARACTER, SUPPOSEDTOBEWRITING. 
> 
> I think Spock in this era, as a young man who has just joined the Enterprise, is fascinating. I think the concept of him desperate for a 'best alternative' to bonding with T'Pring is fascinating. I think the concept of him wrestling between his duties to Starfleet, Vulcan, and himself is fascinating. I wanted to explore an AU of that, and particularly how a young James Kirk would help/harm that.
> 
> Both Spock and Jim are ... like, 22 in this scenario. They are fundamentally dumbasses that, right now, do not like one another. They will fuck up frequently, on an island that is not conducive for human life. But I like it that way - rising from rock bottom to become more than you ever dreamed is a device that really, really works for me.
> 
> With that wall of text out of the way, thank you for reading! <3


	4. No

“Spock!”

That was all it took for Spock to wake. His eyes flicked open, seeing nothing but the dim darkness of their quarters. He adjusted quickly, the vague presence in the room becoming clearer: Jim was standing right next to his bed, looming over him like some sort of ghost. If his emotions were not carefully controlled, he would’ve yelped. Instead, he simply propped himself up on his elbows and glared at Jim.

Although he was annoyed with Jim constantly for a hundred petty reasons, being woken in the middle of the night was new. He was going to put a stop to this nonsense _immediately. _

“No.”

“Hear me out. Spock, I’ve got a … _really _bad idea,” Jim admitted sheepishly, “And I need your help with it.”

“No.”

Spock considered that to be the end of conversation, but apparently, it was not. Jim’s hips were practically pressed into the corner of the bed. He was dressed in his uniform. It must have been in the middle of the night, surely.

“Okay. I’ve been thinking about what you said about blindly following orders.”

“I believe that you stated something of the kind, Lieutenant Kirk.”

“_Yes, _but you said – how it might cause tragedies, you know. And it’s not the Starfleet way. Shouldn’t be, anyway.” Jim started, turning around from Spock’s bed and starting to pace. His hand ran across the hairs above his temple, smoothing it over and over frenetically. Spock sat up fully to examine him. He was … _anxious? _

“I don’t want to get into a means justify the ends conversation, but … okay. What if there _is _a sufficiently advanced species down there, an entire civilization, and we miss them? What if they could help solve some vital problem of the Federation, like – like the necrotizing fasciitis from Darwell, or they’ve got some gifted negotiator who could solve the civil war in the Firenze cluster.”

“What if,” Spock elaborated, “There is an invisible kingdom of organisms that exist solely in a beam of light, and you are exterminating an entire civilization when you request the computer to darken the room?”

That, at least, got Jim to stop his pacing. He turned to face Spock, confounded.

“Every decision can be made to satisfy _what ifs._ You do not know _if _there is a civilization on that planet, much less if they are suitable for First Contact. Much less anything else. What is your point, Lieutenant?”

Jim sat at the table between their beds, reaching for his PADD. Spock did not yet get up from his bed, unsure if it was worth his time. He knew Jim was known for his reckless decisions in the Academy. There was no logical reason to think that had ended now. Why was Jim speaking as if they were friends?

“The ship doesn’t leave until the morning. We could take a shuttle and just – “

“No,” Spock interrupted, lying back down in bed.

“Come on! Nobody would notice we’re gone. We go down, the same exact island we’re on – what was it, a mile in diameter?”

“Two-point-four-seven kilometers.”

“That’s nothing. We could circle that, be back within – a couple of hours, _max. _They would never know we’re gone.”

“_No, _Lieutenant.” Jim could not _possibly _be suggesting …

Jim let out an irritated snarl and leaned his back against the wall. The PADD was angrily tossed to the side. “So that’s that, then? Polite, obedient _Lieutenant-junior-grade _Spock is just going to fall into line and obey every order given to him by a senior officer?”

“That is correct.”

“So why the hell would you just abandon your Starfleet duty like that? We’re meant to _explore._”

For more reasons more than the man in front of him knew, that struck a nerve within Spock.

_Another? _ His mind asked him in despair. _How could you abandon yet another duty? Can you do nothing that’s expected of you? Can you continually fail to meet every expectation? Are you even worth the expense to train, clothe, and feed?_

Beneath the blankets, Spock’s hands balled into fists. He had no reason to _believe _Jim, to put _faith _in his word. And yet.

“It would be highly insubordinate.” Spock was addressing the ceiling. “Theft of a Starfleet shuttle. Directly disobeying orders. Touching foot on a planet without command.” He railed off another half-dozen regulations. “We would be discharged upon our arrival.”

“No, Pike wouldn’t do that. He’d have our backs. I mean, _yeah, _we’d get in trouble, for sure. Don’t get me wrong. But we wouldn’t be discharged.’”

An area that Spock was wholly unfamiliar with. He was used to rules and the punishments expected for breaking rules. He was not used to leeway. Pike had been very merciful to Jim before, for reasons that Spock could not fathom beyond sentimentality, and perhaps this was another example of that. The stakes were high, however.

How far would he go to accomplish his duty?

_Anything, _Spock’s mind returned.

“Are you positive?”

“100%. I’d offer to spit-shake on it, but –”  
“Spit-shake?”

“Yeah. You know.” Jim mimed the action of spitting into his hand and shaking it with another, which caused Spock to recoil in his sheets.

“No, that would not be necessary.”

“Gotcha. Look, if it makes you feel better, when we get back … we’re up front with Pike. I’ll tell him that I bullied you into coming along with me so I didn’t get myself killed on the planet down there. That I swore you to secrecy or otherwise I’d just go myself. You can go right up to him and turn me in.”

Spock blinked at him as he sat up again. “But that is not wholly accurate.”

“Which part isn’t?”

He paused for a moment to compose his thoughts. Eventually, he asked, “Why are you asking me to go along with you?”

“So I don’t get myself killed on the planet down there.” Jim, already sensing Spock’s answer, had started to go over to his desk and rifle through his equipment. Spock could not be bothered to snap at him to mind his privacy.

“And you bullied me into doing so?”

“Dude, I woke you up in the middle of the night to basically demand it. It might not be shove-you-in-a-locker stuff, but I think it counts.”

While it did not seem to be in the spirit of the truth, Spock could understand it. And it would not be morally repugnant if he turned himself in immediately when they returned. If Pike was in a merciful mood, then they would be let off minimally. If not, Spock would have to find a new profession.

_Or if you are extremely fortunate, _the irrational part of his brain told him, _Lieutenant Kirk will be discharged, and you will be able to stay. _

That was unkind, Spock told himself sternly, but the thought remained.

When Jim leaned up from his desk, Spock was right behind him. He examined Jim Kirk so intently, eyebrow raised, that Jim jumped backward. Whirling around, his lower back slammed against the rough edge of the desk.

“A few hours,” Spock enunciated explicitly, face a few inches away from Jim’s in the darkness of their quarters. “And we report to Captain Pike immediately after.”

“Y-yeah.” For the first time, Jim seemed _intimidated _by him. He was clearly nervous, regardless, and couldn’t quite meet Spock’s eyes. “Yeah, of course.”

This was not Spock’s first act of disobeying rules, but he could not find the decision to be illogical. They were searching for a new species, and their first search had been insufficient. Therefore: a new one should be conducted. Everything would be fine, Spock considered, if they were intelligent about it.

Inwardly, Spock also felt as if he spent a few days to himself on the ship, with nothing but thoughts of T’Pring, T’Pris, Vulcan, and loneliness rattling around his mind … he would be very unhappy, indeed. Perhaps he could use a few hours, at least, doing something else.

“Very well. I know how to reprogram the modules in the shuttle bay to allow us to exit undetected. Do not look at me as I change.” Spock stepped backward, already going towards the clothing replicator.


	5. Crash

It took about fifteen minutes after leaving their quarters for Spock to wonder _how _Kirk had possibly convinced him to go along with this.

The feeling sunk in as they walked along the darkened corridors of the Enterprise. Although certain departments (Medical, in particular) had people on shift constantly, the computer nonetheless took appropriate measures to replicate day/night cycles. In this case, it worked in their favor. The lights were dimmed to 50% as they crept along, alone to themselves.

He watched Jim’s back as they approached the shuttle bay. Somehow, Jim had managed to convince him to break many Starfleet regulations _and _spend a few hours with a man he didn’t particularly like. _Perhaps, _Spock considered half-heartedly, _Jim would not be a terrible choice for Command. _

Then he recalled what they were doing and decided that Jim was, in all actuality, a very poor choice for Command indeed.

_He managed to find your most secret vulnerability without even trying. What is the human phrase? ‘Dumb luck’?_

The doors to the shuttle bay slid open in front of them. This area was generally unfamiliar to Spock. He worked mostly with computer design and, while he had done some work to the shuttles before, he was mostly called elsewhere on the ship. “So,” his companion asked, “Which one are we going for?”

There were many. The shuttles were all secured on the ground. “Which one was the most recently used for a mission?” Spock asked suddenly.

“Um, that one. Kevin was on that mission, that’s how I know. Should be fine.”

Spock went over to the access module, quickly overriding the computer warnings. It was going to be very unhappy that a lieutenant-junior-grade was trying to access the shuttle, but unfortunately for the computer, this lieutenant-junior grade knew precisely how to access almost everything on the ship.

It was spitting an unusual amount of warnings at him. Spock watched the notification number slowly tick up and up as Spock continued to bypass the usual shuttle check features. “Out of curiosity, why did you want to know which was the most recent?”

Spock didn’t turn around to look. In front of him, the shuttle hatch opened and the interior lights within were shining. “Some of these shuttles may be damaged or otherwise in need of updates to their hardware or software. Shuttle repair is not high priority, given the number of shuttles on board the _Enterprise.” _He leaned up and turned around to face Jim. “If this shuttle was used on the most recent mission, it is likely functional and up-to-date as opposed to one that has not been used in some time.”

“Oh.” Jim got out dumbly. “Right. Yeah. Makes sense.”

Together, they entered into the shuttle. Jim seemed uncharacteristically nervous next to him, thumping his hands on the side paneling of the shuttle as Spock prepared to leave. Spock, himself, was perfectly calm. His decision was made. And, frankly, everything had gone according to plan so far.

He did not like Jim, so he was not going to go to the effort of asking why he looked like he was going to vomit.

Jim managed a few more minutes of silence as the shuttle bay doors started to yawn open in front of them. Spock had delayed a total of one hundred and twenty-seven alerts in order to prepare the shuttle for launch. More than expected by a large margin, but he did not have time to look at them all individually. It would be fine. Likely security access alerts – he was _really _not meant to be doing this.

They did not have much time at all. If Pike intended to set out by the start of Alpha shift, then they had six hours and fifteen minutes to land, search, and drive back up to the Enterprise. Spock already had the input codes to return to the shuttle bay for when they needed it.

It was a very neat and organized plan, none of which he had told Jim. He had lightly gotten the impression that he was going to handle the technical legwork of this expedition, whereas Jim was going to manage the cowboy diplomacy, if any was needed.

That was fine. Even if he was much more qualified than this lieutenant, he would not have even thought to return to the island on his own accord.

The shuttle revved forward. Spock pulled up a map of the planet. _Avoid the large island with the volcano, _he reminded himself as he charted their destination, _return to the small island with no volcanoes. _

As the course was charted, the shuttle leapt forward and they were surrounded by space.

It was isolating, frankly. To be encapsulated by the Enterprise meant being protected, more or less. There were hundreds of other people, even if Spock felt somewhat detached from them, and defenses, places to rest.

Now, he was reminded of how most of the universe – from the entire universe down to individual atoms – was composed of empty space. Gaping darkness.

“Do you come here often?” A voice joked beside him, and Spock was grateful for his presence. It had never occurred to him to be grateful for _Jim _before, but he understood why people were not advised to be alone in space for long. He turned to look at Jim, who was still anxious … but grinning nonetheless.

“Are you referring to the shuttle or to space?”

“I – okay. Sometimes I forget you’re not from around here.” Jim made a sweeping motion around himself, and then tapped at his heart. “You know. _Here. _It’s sort of a traditional flirt. You say it at a bar. You know, do you come here often_, _have we seen each other around, maybe we have some common ground …?”

Spock stared at him blankly.

“Do Vulcans flirt?”

That was an unusual question. “In the emotional sense, no. In the practical sense, yes.”

“Sorry, how do you flirt in the _practical _sense?”

“To flirt is to convey romantic expression. We would call one another bondmate, or betrothed, or whatever title fits best.”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” His companion rolled his eyes beside him. Spock felt a stab of irritation that, relatively speaking, was very easy to get under control. It was not the first time his ways were not understood, nor the most disrespectful. “So T’Pris is a very patient woman, is what I’m hearing.”

If the look Spock fixed him with before was blank, this was positively unknowing. Jim could have been speaking Gorn for all the sense he was making. Was this human social interaction? It was perhaps the first candid, personal one-on-one conversation he had had since boarding the Enterprise, and he did not care for it. At least conversations on Vulcan made sense.

Jim, at least, made some sort of connection.

“You’re not dating T’Pris.”

“No.” The planet grew closer in proximity as they approached. Spock saw that the storm they had seen on the surface hadn’t yet dissipated. Although seemingly stationary from afar, it still spanned across a decent portion of the surface. More rain. Unpleasant, but to allow something like precipitation to dissuade him would be unbecoming. They had already come so far, broken the biggest rules.

The electromagnetic output of the storm unfortunately indicated that he was unable to scan the surface further. They had seen no large predators while they were down there, so Spock only hoped it was a good indication of a general lack of wildlife on the planet.

“Oh. That’s fine, obviously. I just thought, since you two were … you know, the only Vulcans on board … “

Jim was unknowingly growing very, very close to a tender point in Spock’s consciousness. His eyes narrowed as he looked towards him. “That we must engage in a relationship?”

“No! No, that’s not what I meant. Jeez.” He quite obviously did mean something of the sort, as Jim had gone entirely pink. “Okay. Sort of what I meant. Sorry. You two just spend a good amount of time together, and she’s a total babe. Do Vulcans even date?”

Spock leaned forward at the console, frowning as they entered the upper portions of the atmosphere. Unusual readings from the pressure sensors around the shuttle, but not _entirely _implausible, given the storm. The impulse engines were starting to sputter. He adjusted the output appropriately.

He had been particularly well-suited for piloting a shuttle and had received a special certification in doing so from the Academy. There were some who believed that was the sign he would be an excellent navigator, or (even more far-reaching) well-suited to helm an entire ship. Spock preferred to think that he was particularly good at taking control.

“No,” he responded quietly. “Vulcans do not date. They become betrothed, and then they bond.” _Usually with roughly twelve years in between the former and the latter. _

“Oh, so you want to get _engaged _to T’Pris. Gotcha.”

Somehow, that managed to pierce through his emotional shielding in such a way that Spock immediately shot him a hostile glare.

Spock doubted that T’Pris had told anyone else that she offered to bond with him. After all, she had done so in a detached, cool way, and Spock knew her reasoning behind it. Vulcans rarely went unbonded for long, partially due to Pon Farr, partially because of their reliance on their telepathic bond. Spock didn’t doubt that she missed the sensation of it.

He had wanted to reach over to her, to feel her shoulder, to understand whether she had genuine romantic interest or if her desire stopped at practicality. Spock did not know whether that would change his own impulses toward the matter.

Then he had chastised himself for even having that want. It _should _stop at practicality, he told himself. _His _interest for her only stopped at practicality. If that was enough (_and that should have been enough), _he should bond with her as soon as possible, to allow T’Pring time to find another bondmate. Bonded with T’Pris, he did not have to face the issue of children _or _abandoning his Starfleet post. He did not have time to consider his own erroneous feelings.

Yet, he still hesitated and he could not understand why. He attributed it to some deficiency in himself. _So selfish, _Spock told himself scathingly. _You can never be content with anything. You make yourself comfortable and then make yourself a nuisance for others. _

“I do not want to become betrothed with T’Pris,” Spock returned hollowly, but it sounded weak to his own ears. There was a sudden, violent jerk of the shuttle. Jim’s shoulder _thump-_ed against the wall and he groaned in pain, but the turbulence continued. Spock’s hands tightened on the controls.

Jim dropped the subject. “What’s going on?” He asked as they continued hurtling through the atmosphere, the shuttle shaking like a leaf still. Spock’s eyebrows creased together as he received some _highly _unusual readings.

“We’ve lost the shuttle shielding.” Spock verified the report. “The atmosphere regulation system is faulty, it – “ A loud _bang! _sounded from the underside of the shuttle. “Impulse engines offline. Switching to backward thrusters.”

The shaking grew worse as the shuttle started to go into freefall. Spock desperately tried to stall their landing.

Below them, over the main console, the planet came into clear focus. The storm raged on. There was the small island that they were on previously, with Lieutenant Commander Piger. It was forested and relatively small, situated southwest to the larger island. That one may have been a few hundred miles across, though Spock could not see it in its entirety. The volcano was tall and sprawling, reaching up towards the sky. Low clouds hung over that part of the planet as the storm raged on, obscuring any obvious signs of civilization that may have existed.

In that moment, Spock committed that image – the smaller island in the southwest, the larger island a few dozen miles northeast of it – into his mind. At that moment, they were on a head-on collision course with the smaller island. Spock calculated their chances of survival if they crashed onto it.

Practically nil.

“Shit. _Shit,” _Jim hissed beside him, leaning over his console. “I’m diverting all available power to thrusters.”

“_Not all available power. _Without life support, we cannot remain conscious. 95% of remaining power.”

The smaller island raced up at them at a frightening speed, and Spock made a split-second decision.

Grip tightening on the steering controls, he jerked the shuttle hard to the right. This caused Jim to fully be thrown from his seat, slamming against the side of the wall. But suddenly, Spock could only see blue outside the shuttle. The ocean raised their chances _slightly. _

Spock did not think their chances were high, but they were going to crash regardless. He hoped the water was shallow enough that their bodies would be found – and that death would be quick.

Below his feet, Spock felt the floor of the shuttle _give. _And suddenly, his feet were dangling.

He glanced down, and Jim stared.

They could see the ocean below through the part of the floor that had just been torn away. The metal spiraled towards the ocean below. Something was sparking deep inside of the inner workings of the hull, but there was no mistake – the shuttle was being torn apart.

Now, Spock could no longer see the sky. The viewscreen was entirely focused on the water. Next to him, Jim braced himself and Spock did the same. Spock turned his head to the side and saw that Jim had went completely pale.

Whether this accident was an inherent fault in the shuttle design or some freak accident caused by the planetary storm, the ending was the same. There was no time to analyze it further. It would be done after his death, by the crewmembers of the _Enterprise_. Impact was imminent. Thirty seconds, Spock estimated at a glance, and he tucked his head forward between his knees. Standard regulation. He would follow that until the end.

“Sorry, man.” With his knees pressing against his ears, Spock could barely hear the alarms or the buckling of the shuttle. Jim’s voice next to him was only just audible. “I didn’t mean … I’m sorry, Spock. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into this because of my dumb idea.”

No, he didn’t. Nor did Jim. A mistake of judgement was not grounds for death. “I agreed to it,” Spock answered as a return. Perhaps Jim was foolish and insipid – but perhaps so was Spock. “Which makes me equally at fault.”

Jim didn’t answer. Spock wondered if he was praying or just counting down.

He had never been a very strong touch telepath, presumably due to his half-human nature. When Vulcan children were born, they had a very strong parental telepathic bond with both of their parents. It allowed their parents to attend to their needs, to automatically determine whether the infant was hungry, cold, lonely, or ill.

Later, the bond assisted with learning, development, and mental health. Vulcan children particularly close to their parents could even transmit thoughts like a Betazoid. The parental bond naturally diminished over time as the offspring grew and became more independent, until it completely disappeared in adulthood. At that time, it was expected that the Vulcan would form bonds of their own, whether with their bondmate or their own children.

Spock had not been born with any parental bond to speak of. Where his schoolmates had complained of their parental bond being overbearing, Spock could only nod dumbly. He had never been able to feel if his father had been proud of him, if his mother was concerned that he was walking too close to the edge of a cliff. Thankfully, his mother’s experience as a schoolteacher meant that he did not flounder too much academically. He still attributed the lack of a bond to his development as a rebellious, distempered child.

More relevantly, it meant that he had never been able to transmit his thoughts or feelings to either parent telepathically.

He knew it was illogical. He knew it was impossible. But as he could hear the wind howling through the shuttle, he was internally very, very desperate, and very, very scared.

_Sarek, _he tried to think the words across hundreds of lightyears of subspace, _Father. I am so, so sorry for disappointing you and our family. You deserved better from your son. Tell mother I love her. _

They crashed down into the surface of the water. Spock was thrown back from his chair to the rear of the shuttle. His head slammed hard against the hard metal plating. Excruciating pain shot through his body as he slid to the floor. A moment passed and he felt a soft _thump! _Of a human body hitting his chest, and then, everything went black.


	6. The First Few Minutes

Water. He was underwater. He could not see it, but when he tried to inhale, he only received a lungful of oceanwater for his efforts. When he tried to cough it out, he only succeeded in inhaling more of it in.

Weakly, he opened his eyes and saw the sky above him.

Everything had an ethereal quality under the water. Above, Spock could see water _pat-pat-pat-pat _against the surface of the ocean. He was being by from the current, and otherwise sinking fast.

There was something on fire next to him. Underwater? Unusual. Spock investigated by turning his head and saw remains of the shuttle bobbing on top of the water, the exposed fragment burning away into the stormy sky. That explained it. He was entranced as he sunk further.

His head hurt. His head hurt so badly, but his arms were so heavy. He could not even raise them to feel his head. He had learned how to swim on Vulcan, and then also in the Academy, but even kicking his feet was far too much.

No matter. He would black out soon, anyway. Spock could not breathe, and there was water in his lungs. Soon, they would fill entirely.

There was a ribbon of green curling around him, and images of sea creatures – sharks, fish, eels, squid – popped into his mind. Perhaps he would end up being their evening meal. Spock idly wondered if that would hamper the ecosystem too much and decided that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

No, that wasn’t an animal. Too thin, too transparent, too meandering. Spock’s eyes focused on it.

It was his blood, curling from a wound unknown. _Unfortunate, _Spock thought weakly, before he felt himself start to drift off again. As he did so, he felt something warm and strong grip the back of his uniform.

…

He woke in Jim’s lap, awkwardly maneuvered so that he was leaning forward towards the sandy beach.

That was not the first thing Spock was cogent of. No, the first thing he was cogent of was something hitting him, very hard and in succession, and in the back.

The second was that he needed to vomit _immediately. _

Spock coughed up seawater, his lungs burning with the effort. At least breathing was easier, as he clawed his fingers into the sand in frenzied pain. He coughed and coughed and Jim kept hitting him in the back, before Spock twisted himself to the side and vomited up the rest of the water.

When he finished, Spock slumped in exhaustion. There was still water, splattering across his head, but his uniform was soaked already. It made little difference.

He could breathe. It was painful, and the gasps came out in a wheeze, but he could breathe.

“Oh, thank God,” a voice rumbled behind him. “Spock, talk to me.”

Spock’s eyes shut as he focused on the agony on the back of his skull.

_Identify, _he focused, _Identify. Separate. Control. _

It was, by no means, a perfect solution. But when Spock opened his eyes again, he could at least think clearly without the constant distraction to the pain on the back of his head. He moved himself off of Jim’s lap to kneel on the sand, turning to face him.

Jim’s face was dotted with cuts, a burn was starting to darken the side of his neck. A similar burn led him to cradle his arm against his chest now that Spock was off him.

He reached for his comm-badge on his chest. The familiar chirp indicating a completed connection didn’t sound. _Electromagnetic output from the storm affecting communication, _Spock thought blearily, before looking down and realizing that the comm-badge had just fallen apart with a simple touch. Jim didn’t even have his on him.

He looked out over the ocean and saw the shuttle wreckage, still burning stubbornly against the battering storm. The fires danced and spat against the rain. If anything was salvageable in the shuttle, they would not be getting to it anytime soon. Starfleet shuttles were durable, but there were limits.

“Spock. _Talk _to me,” Jim commanded again. “Are you going into shock?”

Shock. Shock, perhaps. Spock’s fingers went to his head and brushed against the burst skin. They came back green. As the color got washed away from the rain, he looked up towards Jim, still looking at him desperately in the rain.

“The ship will not be able to identify us without our comm-badges.” Spock looked down at the pieces of his own, reaching for the specific element that transmitted his location. It was covered in sand and completely saturated with water. Useless. Spock dropped it.

Jim nodded to him. “We need to figure out what we’re going to – hey, where are you going?”

Spock was already standing and heading for the tree line. They were unusual. Spock hadn’t been able to appropriately scan them before, and he wouldn’t have a chance now. Thick trunks and wide, interlocking leaves that would successfully block out light from the sky. It would not be _much _drier there, but Spock had had enough of being rained on for a lifetime.

That, and if he stayed too much longer near the lieutenant (junior grade), Spock was going to have to test Surak’s no-murder-unless-necessary teachings.

They were stuck here, with no way of contact. They had _destroyed _a Starfleet shuttle, which in turn would disrupt the aquatic ecosystem. They had no tools, nothing to defend themselves, and they were injured. With everything, a dishonorable discharge from Starfleet would be merciful.

And Spock had gone along with it, _because he was an idiot. _

He walked into the forest. At least he wasn’t being continually rained on, here. He heard the chirping and buzzing and humming of a thousand creatures, being refreshed from the raging storm above. On an authorized mission, he would have found such noises pleasing. _Proof of life. _Now, he was only firmly reminded that he was an outsider and not meant to be here.

“Stop walking. We need to talk.” Jim grumbled behind him, catching up. “Where is your off button? Come on, my legs are killing me.”

That was enough. It was the whine, the sarcastic quip, the entire _essence _of Jim Kirk that broke the camel’s back. Spock turned to face him, impassive and stony. He stopped so suddenly that Jim almost ran into his chest.

“The _Enterprise _is not aware of our present location.” Spock stated. “At _best, _they will become aware of our absence when they leave in the morning – approximately eight hours from now, when they perform a personnel check.”

There had been one or two occasions when they had not performed _all _the mandatory checks before plotting a course, typically during emergencies. Spock tried not to think of that.

“When they realize, they will beam down onto this planet to search for us and discover that not only have we undertaken an unauthorized mission, we have destroyed a Starfleet shuttle. We have ruined Starfleet equipment. We have presented a serious danger to the life on this planet. There is no standard regulation about what Starfleet will do to us in that instance, _because it happens so rarely, _but a dishonorable discharge is expected.”

Spock was glaring, now, the distant mask gradually transforming to something furious. He was soaked through to the bone, the pain from his head injury was gradually overriding his emotional control, and he had failed his duty because of this _emotional fool _in front of him.

Jim’s hands were up defensively. “Hey, how was _I _supposed to know that the shuttle was going to do that? I put you in charge of shuttle piloting because you were better at it.”

The destruction of the shuttle was another matter altogether. Spock looked out towards the sea, trying to formulate probabilities. It was possible that the storm had simply been so intense (much stronger than when they beamed down initially) that the shuttle would never have survived the impact.

Of course, it was also possible that the shuttle had been damaged before it even left the hangar bay, and Spock had been negligent in not checking for damages beforehand.

He could have been the cause of all this.

Jim must have taken his silence as disagreement, because he went on. “At least we’re _alive. _Look, a couple of hours maximum, and then we deal with whatever they throw at us. It could be a lot worse. And it’s Pike. Pike will understand.”

“You place too much faith in Captain Pike’s nepotism.”

“_Nepotism?” _Jim was staggered, taking a step back. “What exactly are you implying?”

Spock knew precisely what he was implying. It was what he felt, to his core, since the very first too-charming quip Jim had thrown at him. “That your presence on this ship is due _solely _to Captain Pike’s irrational fondness of you, and that you do not have the skills to be an adequate crewmember of _any _starship, much less the _Enterprise.” _

“Yeah, because I’m sure you watch my every move when I’m on shift to make sure I’ve got what it takes. It’s a little creepy, Spock, because I gotta tell you – I’m not interested in dating a guy who probably recites _pi _to get hard.”

They were a few inches away from one another in that moment. Although they had been granted a reprieve from the rain above, water still trailed down their faces as they glared across at one another.

When he was a child, Sarek had sat him down to inform him about pre-Reformation history. How Vulcans had been emotional, irrational creatures, ready to kill or maim or harm at even an assumed slight. They had been unable to govern themselves adequately. Their population would die out because they could not see beyond the immediate present. If the Reformation hadn’t occurred, then there would be no more Vulcans.

Spock had sat there on his learning mat, legs folded underneath him, and had asked patiently: _Then why would they not reform themselves hundreds of years before, Father? Why did they wait until the teachings of Surak? _

His father had explained about biology and will and self-control, and Spock had only nodded dumbly. He remembered that he’d been getting antsy, had wanted to go outside with I-Chaya to the mountains again, and his father was not a very enthused teacher.

Now, Spock felt as if he understood the answer to his question twenty-or-so years later.

It felt _good _to be angry. Spock felt himself idly wondering if it would feel even _better _to throw his fist against Jim’s face. 

“Perhaps it would be best if you _were _discharged from Starfleet,” Spock uttered through gritted teeth. “If all you have to offer is meaningless remarks.”

“That’s not what T’Pris said last night.”

Before he could stop himself, Spock had seized the front of Jim’s shirt. There was a tree directly behind him, and it would be no effort at all to simply thrust Jim against it, let his head splinter the outer surface of the wood, and _oh, Captain Pike, he perished during the shuttle crash, I apologize, sir, but I was thrown unconscious myself … _

Spock blinked at himself, surprised at his brutality. That was not his way. He released Jim’s shirt and stepped back from the situation. Kup-fun-tor ha'kiv na'ish du stau? _Can you return to life what you kill? _

In response, Jim brushed off the front of his shirt and raised his middle finger to Spock aggressively. Spock understood that gesture. He regarded Jim, looked towards the shore, muttered, “We will reconvene at sunrise,” and left. Jim did not follow.

Spock did not venture very far into the forest, preferring to stay within sight of the coastline. Jim must have went the opposite direction, as he uncovered no trace of him. For the best. It was clear that Jim inspired a certain _emotional humanity _in him, which was not as pleasant as the phrase suggested.

It was not a formal meditation, but it allowed him time to think. The pain on the back of his head quieted to a dull stinging, no doubt caused by the seawater that still dripped from the tips of his hair. The storm started to quiet and soon dissipated entirely. The cloud cover was thick, but this planet had several moons and the area was relatively well-lit.

Still, Spock grew nevertheless cold. The urge to remove his shirt grew (and he would need a makeshift bandage for his head, regardless), but he wanted to find freshwater first. The idea of pressing his salt-stained uniform to the injury on the back of his head made him wince. So, he went further into the forest.

Jim, in all likelihood, did not sleep with T’Pris. She could not be swayed from her Vulcan principles, and Vulcans generally did not partake in intercourse casually. Jim _only _partook in intercourse casually, if his personality was any indication. He felt no jealousy at his remark, but there had been a cold fear in his veins when Jim made it.

_If T’Pris had taken a mate in Jim, they could not bond. If they could not bond, he would have to bond with T’Pring. And that would be … _

Logical, because it was traditional?

Illogical, because he would have to abandon his Starfleet duty?

Neither, because certain choices did not inherently carry rationality or irrationality?

Spock’s head hurt. He stumbled further into the forest and tried not to think any more of it. Jim had definitely only said that to provoke him, and he had succeeded in that fact. He could not let that happen again. Although they only had to survive until morning together, Spock thought it would be better if they were not constantly at one another’s throats.

He had to behave logically. He remembered the teachings of Surak and calmed himself. In a sense, it was good that he was stranded here with Jim. Jim tested him in a way that other humans did not. And one of Surak’s points indicated that if you gave up your principles during times of hardship, they were not your principles at all.

Understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update! And, 10k words in, we get back on the island. :-)  
Thank you to everyone who's read, kudos'ed, or left comments! I appreciate them. See you next Sunday!


	7. A Cozy Fire

Spock finally came upon freshwater, a small little creek that weaved lazily between the trees. The water was cold but drinkable, and Spock found himself dipping his hands several times in it to clear the taste of bile and saltwater out of his mouth. He knew it was foolish, there could have been any source of bacteria in the water, but he could not bring himself to regret it in that moment. It cleared his thinking remarkably.

As he knelt there, though, Spock became rigidly aware that they could not definitively say there wasn’t advanced life on this planet. There were animals and drinkable water and sun. Advanced life could exist – and they could be violent. He had nothing to defend himself, not even a comm-badge to properly identify his affiliation.

Dakh pthak. _Cast out fear, _Spock told himself. Fear was a messy emotional response that assisted with nothing, and he would manage this inadvertent First Contact if it came down to it. He thought of Jim, somewhere alone in the forest, and – despite his momentary anger - hoped that he was also safe.

Even if Jim had potentially ruined his occupational ambitions with this plan, he did not deserve to be killed over it.

Leaning over the water, Spock saw the blood from his head injury, dried onto his neck. It still throbbed uncomfortably. He had to tend to the wound on his head.

Spock removed his shirt and dipped it several times in the water. Moderately clean. Good. He carefully tore the garment into strips, long and decently elastic. One strip was tied against his wound as tight as he could bear, while the others were tied up and down his arm loosely. He would need to change the bandages later, and it was as good a place to store them as any.

The reflection in the water only looked faintly ridiculous. Spock examined his profile curiously. His _kahs-wan _mark, usually well-hidden underneath his sleeves, was darkly visible against his pale skin. The meaning of such a mark, the successful completion of the coming-of-age ceremony, felt more relevant than ever. Against the moving reflection of the water, the small serpentine mark appeared like it was shimmering.

_You experienced hardship and did not abandon your principles. You will not do so here. _

Mostly, he didn’t abandon his principles. A small lizard had paid the price for his greedy hunger back then, and he had atoned appropriately for it. He would not kill again. It would not happen again.

He had to find a place to rest for the night. The most obvious was the shore near the crashed shuttle. At least the fire from the wreckage would be easy to find. Spock stood up from the creek and started to walk, only faintly dizzy.

At least the island was relatively small. Spock had to have been approaching his starting point, soon. He could see the smoke rising from the shuttle still, an inadvertent marker from where they had unfortunately touched down.

Actually, from here, he could see _two _plumes of smoke. One was out in the ocean, but the other, significantly wispier, was from inside the island.

An uncontacted species? Or perhaps Jim? There was no way of knowing, but Spock regardless felt the cold seep into his bones. Fire sounded pleasant. He made his way towards the smoke in the island. Even if Jim was ornery, it would be a more pleasant night if they had a fire roaring together.

His stomach had started to rumble, too, but that could be ignored for the moment.

During the _kahs-wan_ ceremony, cold had also been an issue. Vulcan’s Forge had the displeasure of being blistering hot (even for a Vulcan) during the day and frigidly cold at night. A young Spock had curled up in the nearest rocky crag and set fires using the various brush in the area, but he never had to deal with the _wet _there.

Even with the storm stopped, Spock’s boots sank into the mud with every step. If that was Jim near the fire, how had he managed to start it? Everything was wet.

Evidently, Jim had managed to find a small knob that overlooked the forest, facing the shore. Spock was more certain that it was Jim as he approached. There was no other sign of life anyway, minus the continual noises from the interior of the forest. Cautiously, Spock approached.

He climbed up the side of the knob and caught sight of Jim. He was tucked up against a large rock, while a small fire roared in front of him. His eyes were shut, and Spock wondered if he had managed to fall asleep.

“Hey.”

Apparently not. Jim’s eyes flickered open as he untucked himself. His eyes scoured over Spock’s form, and a small half-smile split his face. “That’s a good look on you.”

Spock looked at the blue strips of cloth tied up and down his arm. “It is practical.”

“Yeah. I have no doubts.” Silence passed in between them before Jim gestured to an empty space on the ground, on the other side of the fire. “Sit a while.”

He took the offered position, sitting close to the fire. His knees were pulled up against his chest and Spock wrapped his arms around them, staring deep at the base. Ah. Sap-covered leaves and wood with the wet bark peeled off. An excellent method to start a fire in an otherwise wet environment.

“I know, I know, I disturbed the ecosystem,” Jim sighed, waving Spock off, “I don’t need the lecture. It’s cold.”

“I was not about to chastise you. I was merely remarking at the innovation.” 

“Innovation?”

“Indeed. I would not have been able to start a fire in such circumstances.” Spock could perhaps formulate the theory of doing so, but he had never had to start a fire during a rainstorm. He lacked the practical experience.

Jim’s smile turned friendlier. “Thanks. It’s not exactly rocket science, but they don’t teach it at the Academy. I camped a lot when I was a kid. Well, I ran away a lot.”

Spock raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Eh. We don’t need to get into that. My night already took a turn for the worse when I saw you coming out of the shadows.” Strangely enough, it wasn’t spoken with any sort of malice, but rather gentle teasing. Spock did not even feel the burst of irritation. He was tired, and his hands were being warmed by the fire. “I’m sorry, man.”

“You’re apologizing? What for?”

The fire crackled between them as Jim took a pause, scrubbing at the side of his head. “Everything? Bringing you down here, riling you up, implying that I fucked your friend? All of that was a pretty dick move.”

A few hours earlier, Spock would have felt smugness. Perhaps he would even gloat. Now, the reality of the situation was setting in. They were stuck here until morning, and then they would get discharged from Starfleet. With everything they had done, there was no other outcome. A shuttle had been destroyed. Spock set his head on his knees.

With no duties to Starfleet, he would likely have to return to Vulcan and fulfill his duty with T’Pring. The situation was solved for him in a most unsatisfactory way. Spock had no doubt that he would be a father by the end of the year, at least.

He could not manage to feel anger towards Jim, not now. After all … “I agreed to it, and I should have checked the shuttle for damage before we left. I also should not have participated in the argument. I’m sorry, Jim.”

“It’s okay. Kind of moot, now.” And indeed, it was. Whatever Spock’s future career path was, it did not include Lieutenant Kirk in it. He did not know what Jim wanted to do. Frankly, he knew very few things about him, besides being a degenerate. “Is that a tattoo?”

Spock looked down at his _kahs-wan _mark. The serpentine maze on his bicep was roughly the size of a sand dollar, half-obscured by the strips of blue fabric. “No,” he answered honestly, but did not elaborate. He was not permitted to discuss that ceremony with non-Vulcans, as it was.

He thought Jim would pry, and Jim did look like he wanted to. Instead, he just folded his arms behind his head and sighed. His eyes turned to the stars. “Ah, Spock. We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

“I cannot disagree.” Appropriately warmed, Spock moved to lean against the boulder awkwardly. His head still pained him when he placed too much pressure on it, but there wasn’t much he could do with no equipment. “It was a pleasant, if short, career.”

“You’re telling me. I guess I’ll go back to Iowa. Do odd jobs, maybe, what I was doing before.”

“Iowa,” Spock mused. “That is on Earth, correct?”

“Yup. It’s got corn and wind farms.”

“My mother is from Colorado Springs originally.”

“Huh, no shit. You’re half-human?”

Spock was surprised that Jim did not know, but he supposed that this was one of the first friendly conversations that they had. He nodded and pressed his finger into the loose silt near the fire. It was easy to draw in, and Spock felt himself idly drawing the map of the planet they were currently on. “I was born on Vulcan and left to attend Starfleet Academy at age sixteen.”

“No kidding. I was born – well, you know the story. I lived in Iowa for a while, I got shipped off to a colony when I was fourteen, came back when I was sixteen and enrolled at eighteen. I didn’t know Starfleet Academy admitted sixteen-year-olds.”

Spock looked up to stare at Jim’s face. “They do not. Generally.”

For the first time since they’d crash-landed on the planet, Jim threw his head back and laughed. It was a loud bark; if there were any sentient beings on this planet, their position was definitely given away. “Show-off.”

“My education was sufficiently advanced, and it was a somewhat … delicate situation.” Delicate, of course, meaning that he had submitted the paperwork underneath his father’s notice and he had few other places to go. While his mother had always made clear that Spock would always be welcome, his father had not spoken to him since. “Which colony were you sent to?”

Jim stiffened beside him. Spock was staring down at the silt again, but he could see the muscles in his calves twitch. “Oh, you know. Just one of the Martian ones.”

A lie. Spock was not going to press on it. While Vulcans did not normally practice deception, humans did and usually had very emotional reasons for it. He only nodded in understanding. “I never had the opportunity to thank you for rescuing me from the shuttle. I would have drowned.”

“No thanking necessary. Uh, thanks for adjusting course so we didn’t crash land on the actual island.”

“You are welcome.” Spock continued tracing the volcano of the island while they lapsed into comfortable silence. At the very least, he considered, there was a few hours before his entire life was upended and his father grew even more disappointed in him.

A tap on his shoulder. Spock looked up at Jim, who was pointing at the sky. Spock followed suit. “Clouds are gone.”

There were three moons visible against the thousands of stars in the sky. Most of it was obscured by the tops of the trees, but for a few minutes, they shone down on them. One was similar to Earth’s moon, another faintly bigger and the same color, another quite small and a light pink color.

The light reflected off the water collected on the tops of the trees. Suddenly, Spock became aware that he could hear the crashing of the water against the surface. There was the crackling fire, and the ambient noise of the planet fauna, and for a second, Spock was at peace.

Until Jim’s stomach growled, loudly. It made Spock jump.

“Sorry,” Jim apologized, stifling a chuckle. “Sorry. I thought we’d be back by now. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until everything quieted down.”

Spock thought of the rations in the shuttle’s emergency kit and could not help but share the sentiment. With one hand, he smoothed out the diagram he had been drawing and started to draw a series of squares on the dirt.

“We should sleep, at a later point,” Spock advised. “But in the meantime, would you like to play chess to pass the time?”

There, miniature and thoroughly 2D, Spock had drawn a chess board. “Of course I get stuck with a guy who thinks playing chess is a good way to pass the time.”

“I apologize. Do you know how to play?”

“Do I know how to play – I know how to play, _and _I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Doubtful.”

“No.” Jim’s attitude was full of mirth as he pushed forward from the boulder and sat cross-legged on the other side. “I’m – mark it down, Spock, this is going to go down in Starfleet history. The day the Vulcans got their asses handed to them at their own game.”

“Chess was not invented by Vulcans,” Spock corrected. “Many ancient recreational activities were forgotten after the Reformation. We adopted chess as a logical strategy venture after First Contact.”

“Then burn the adoption certificate, baby, because we’re taking chess back.”

What a strange man. Spock wondered if this was how all humans acted in private. Usually, he would find this behavior reprehensible, but now … it was pleasant not to be left alone with his thoughts, and at least Jim was optimistic. Spock was exceptionally terrible at caring for upset individuals.

They began to play. Most of the difficulties arose in the size of the chess board, or determining which piece went where (it became apparent that Spock’s drawing abilities far exceeded Jim’s, as he eventually groaned and went to using simple letters to describe his pieces), but Spock found it pleasantly distracting after some time. They spoke little of non-game related issues until Jim piped up again.

“You know, I kind of thought you were a gigantic asshole before.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Like, a genius, don’t get me wrong. Apparently you’ve got the magic touch with computers.” _Inaccurate, _Spock termed silently. “And part of me still thinks you’re a gigantic asshole. But I could be stuck with worse, now that I think about it?”

Spock wanted to ask what precisely he meant by ‘worse’. It was clear that the environment (peaceful, warm, even _beautiful) _was having an effect on Jim’s mood, but Spock would take any good favor. They would need to work together until morning, at any rate. Captain Pike would be doubly displeased if he had to deal with them squabbling, on top of everything else. “It is similar for me. There are other crewmembers who would be much worse to be here with. Such as Lieutenant Commander Piger.”

“_Ha! _I knew you hated him.”

“Vulcans do not hate, Jim. Hate implies an emotion that we do not express. He would be, however, an objectively difficult crewmember to work with.”

“Sure, sure.” Jim moved his piece forward. “He’s also a gigantic tool.”

Perhaps so. Spock continued making his move. Jim played exceptionally well, though Spock did not think Jim’s skill outweighed his own.

Just as Jim moved his piece, the fire spluttered as a heavy coastal wind blew through their small campsite. Spock shivered with the sudden cold air. It had the unfortunate side effect of stirring up the silt, completely obliterating their makeshift chessboard. “Aw, no,” Jim muttered under his breath. He tried to decipher the messy dirt without success. “Did you memorize it, Mr. Computer?”

“I did not, and I must emphasize that Vulcan brain function is not as infallible as you seem to believe.”

“Figures.” Jim blew out a breath, and looked up at the stars. “You want to take first watch, or should I?”

“Are you tired?”

Jim shook his head firmly.

“Then I will rest. Vulcans have a unique capacity for falling asleep at will. I do not require much sleep, so please wake me when you wish to rest.”

“Aye-aye.’ Jim offered him a mocking salute. “Get some rest, Spock. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Nodding gratefully, Spock curled up in front of the fire. It was as warm as he could get without perishing from smoke inhalation or being burned. He set his head on the dirt surrounding the campfire and stared forward at it.

In the morning, he would be discharged. He would have to return to Vulcan in shame, another mark of error on his already unforgivable record. T’Pring would bond with him out of obligation but no real pride, and Spock would have to take work where people did not see him. Certainly, Vulcans spoke of being objective and logical, but the shameful looks they would give him – they would think this entire endeavor had been some rebellious stunt. And would they even be _wrong? _

Just before Spock forced himself to fall asleep, he had a singular, impulsive thought: _I don’t want to return. _


	8. Meanwhile ...

“Ensign, have we got a course plotted out yet?” Pike asked as he rounded the corner of the bridge, adjusting the front of his uniform patiently. He took his seat and stared forward at the main console. They still had a fantastic view of the planet – if it was in a less lonely part of the galaxy, Pike figured it’d be a great place for shore leave.

The ensign turned around and nodded patiently. “Yes, sir, the coordinates from Starfleet are tracked into the system. Would you like us to begin pre-navigation checks?”

“Sure.” Pike offered with a casual smile. “Why not.”

“Engineering has already reported that warp and impulse engines are operational. No mechanical difficulties of note.”

“Beautiful.”

“Should we begin a personnel check?”

Pike nodded, reaching for his comm-badge. “Captain to all department heads. If you could report back to me with a confirmation that all crew under your jurisdiction is accounted for, we could get this show on the road.”

Personally, Pike understood _why _they needed a personnel check, but most of them were useless. They were on a starship, with a transporter officer that monitored who went in or out. Sure, after shore leave, they had to make sure everyone was back on the bus – but after a mission that had a grand total of three people leave? It was mostly just a stall.

Some of the bridge crewmembers started to speak quickly and quietly into their communicators, doing a verbal check of all the personnel in their department. That always took a while. Sometimes, crewmembers with the day off forgot that they still had to _check their communicators. _

“Communications, sir. All personnel present and accounted for.”

“Captain, all crewmembers in Medical –”

“Sir!” The communications officer on the bridge turned around to face him. “Emergency transmission coming in from the _USS Hubble. _Putting it on screen now.”

“Halt on the personnel check, everyone,” Pike remarked into the comm-badge as he leaned forward on his chair as he listened to the emergency message.

They were dead in the water. Dilithium crystals had gotten cracked during an evasion from a solar flare, and their impulse engines were working at a minimum. Everything else was working fine, for now, but the nearest starbase was still a good distance away and they had injured.

“Ensign, belay those Starfleet coordinates and get a fix on the _Hubble. _We’re gonna give ‘em a tow before anything else. Sounds like they’re in a rough spot.”

During peaceful times, the _Enterprise _took care of nearly every need – it was, in some ways, almost luxurious. Still, Pike could understand the frantic desperation of being stuck out in the middle of nowhere, trying to call for help.

The ensign appropriately put in the coordinates for the starship. The _Enterprise _pivoted on itself to face the correct decision. “Alright, _hit it,” _Pike commanded the navigator as the planet disappeared from view and the _Enterprise _shot forward.


	9. Very, Very Fucking Right

He woke to chirping birds, their songs alien and unknown to him. Jim had woken him during the night and Spock had let him sleep, but it had been fitful and restless. Eventually, out of the assumption that at least _one _of them should sleep, Spock had taken another duty of rest.

Dawn. The light was shining through the trees dimly, casting onto Spock’s face. A similar day-night cycle to Earth, then. Interesting. The fire was dead in front of him but it was nonetheless considerably warmer than the previous night. Spock didn’t shiver as he sat in an upright position.

“Ready to face our maker?” Jim teased, speaking back over his shoulder. His legs were thrown over the edge of the small overhang, no more than a few feet down from the forest floor.

Ah, Spock had gone for more than a minute without remembering that he was going to be discharged from Starfleet today. Or, at least, the order was going to be given. How kind of Jim to remind him. Frowning, Spock stood and walked over to Jim. His hand scratched at the back of his head numbly before the blood-soaked bandage came off.

“Would you?” He asked groggily, sitting with his back to Jim. He extended his arm out to Jim.

Jim grunted in surprise, before he tugged a strip of fabric loose from his arm. “How are you feeling with that?”

Impossible to know whether the soreness rampaging through his body was the onset of an infection or the aftereffects of sleeping on dirt and rock. Spock shook his head listlessly. “The bleeding has stopped. The bandage is to prevent infection.”

“Only has to last a few hours more, before the doc can get a look at you. I’m sure not eating in twelve hours isn’t helping.”

Spock’s stomach grumbled in reply. He _was _hungry; it was curious that Jim had counted the hours exactly. Still, he would rather manage a little hunger than Captain Pike up above. Soon, the bandage was tied tightly around his head. Spock probed at it and nodded appreciatively. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. You sleep okay?”

The look that Spock sent Jim made him snort. “Yeah, figure. Come on, Spock, let’s go wait on the beach.”

Together, they exited the forest to sit on the beach. The burned-out remnant of the shuttle, extinguished now, was visible from the tip of the water. Despite that, the water was calm and extended, flat, in all directions. Spock knew that the volcano island loomed over the horizon, but here, it truly seemed as if this was the only land on the planet.

It was peaceful, still. As peaceful as the night had been.

They hadn’t accomplished what they’d set out to do. Although Spock had made a circuitous route of the shore, he had not fully explored the forest interior. Strangely, Spock didn’t feel a burning urge to accomplish that. He was focused too much on what lay ahead.

“Hey.” Jim was calling to him as they sat, almost thigh-to-thigh, on the beach together. “I have an idea.”

“Another? The last one worked out so well.”

“I don’t think sarcasm is part of Vulcan principles, man.” Jim blew out a long breath of air through his mouth, thinking. “Let – just let me talk when Pike gets us back up there, okay?”

“I presumed you would talk. You do it so often.” Spock felt that he was in a strange mood, settling his head on his knees morosely. A lifetime of unhappy matrimony stretched out before him, as unending as the ocean horizon.

Jim placed a hand on his shoulder, hard enough that it was almost a slap. “_No. _I’m going to take the fall for this.”

That got Spock’s attention. He raised his head to stare at Jim inquisitively.

“Okay. What happened, last night – it’s like we discussed, okay, but a little … more. Instead of just bullying you into joining me, I – I blackmailed you. With something. Doesn’t matter what. I did put a phaser to your head and _forced _you to go with me down here. I said I’d kill you if you went and told Pike.”

“That is a highly unrealistic story.” For one thing, why would Jim threaten _murder _over something like this mission?

“It’ll work if we both agree to it.” Jim was stubbornly staring ahead at the horizon. “And they don’t have any proof otherwise. That way, I get discharged, and you … you don’t.”

Spock shook his head. “That is deception.”

“Of course it’s deception. But with the way my record reads, believe me, nobody at the Admiralty would be surprised that _I _got myself into it. But there’s no reason you have to go down with me.”

“Deception is against my morals.”

Jim let out an angry grunt at that, head pressed into his knees. “Who,” he huffed, muffled, “gives a _fuck _about your morals when you could be _kicked out of Starfleet?” _

“If you give up your principles during times of hardship, they were not your principles at all.” It was tempting, of course. Was it ever tempting to simply go along with Jim’s story. Wasn’t it only a day ago when he’d received a strange, perverse stab of joy at the thought of Jim being discharged over this? Sickening of him, and he was not going to continue down that line.

He would pay the consequences for his mistakes. If that meant personally miserable for the rest of his life, he would go through with it. He would fight every day to remain logical, and rational, because it was the appropriate decision. He would ignore everything from his human side and behave as the perfect Vulcan to atone for his mistakes. “We will inform Captain Pike of the entire truth, Jim. That is final.”

Jim sighed against his knees. “Just remember I gave you an out, okay? That maybe I’m not a one hundred percent asshole.”

Spock replied that he would note that. Together, they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Three hours, as the sun sailed further into the sky, and Jim had asked in a dry voice where Spock had found the freshwater source. Spock gave him detailed directions and a promise to inform Pike of his location should they come. Jim had come back; Spock had retrieved some water after, and still the _Enterprise _did not come.

It was only when the sun had crossed most of the sky that it became apparent that no help was coming. Their absence had gone unnoticed.

Spock had to put a clamp of control down on the newly formed fear curling around him, that they would _never _be noticed, that he would be trapped down on this planet forever with Jim. That he would die here.

Jim summed it nicely. He had been sitting in the sand, legs stretched out in front of him with his fingers dug into the sand. When he caught sight of Spock starting to stand, Jim just ducked his head down and murmured, “_Fuck.” _

He turned around, his back to the beach, as he tried to think of a plan. There had to be something that they could do. _Anything. _

He had to be logical about it. He had to be _rational. _If panic overwhelmed him, then they would be dead regardless. And, even if the galaxy held very little promise for him anymore, Spock did not want to die here.

“We must go deeper into the island,” Spock blurted, turning around to face Jim. Jim was still sitting with his head tucked against his chest, but he raised it and squinted when he saw Spock.

“Why?”

“There is everything here that would allow for an advanced civilization. There is plentiful water, a breathable atmosphere, a nonhostile environment – there is no evidence that there _would not be _a sentient species here.”

“Doesn’t mean that there’s evidence that there is. Or maybe there was, but that big fuck-off volcano over there –” To underscore his point, Jim gestured towards the horizon, “Wiped out everything.”

Spock had to concede that. “There are few alternative options, unless you plan to wait.”

“What if we’re just … I mean, I don’t know about you, but I don’t know what time it is aboard the ship. What if we’re completely turned around? We go back in the forest, and they come down and can’t find us? They’ll assume we kicked the bucket in the crash.”

“Very well.” Spock went to work. Jim watched him curiously as Spock retrieved a stick from the treeline, and started to draw a large symbol deep in the sand. When Jim eventually realized what he was drawing, he let out a laugh. After a minute of tracing the figure a little more cleanly, Spock stood back from it.

A massive Starfleet logo was drawn into the sand, even as the bottom was licked by the tide. “Now they will know we survived long enough to reach the shore, at least.” He turned back towards Jim, hands on his hips.

Spock had never been content to mope. When he had rejected his admission into the VSA, he had signed his Starfleet paperwork the next day. He needed to at least _try _all logical scenarios, no matter how statistically improbable, before he would accept defeat.

Even if they were from entirely different worlds, Spock hypothesized that Jim felt the same way, too. Jim regarded him and then stuck out a hand for Spock to help him up.

Spock only hesitated a half-second before he clasped Jim’s hand.

Vulcan hand sensitivity was a well-documented phenomenon, and it had not escaped Spock genetically. Still, his hands were not sensitive to the point of paralyzing him to inaction. He worked with his hands every day; he occasionally had to touch living beings to direct them to do this or that. It did not bother him or distract from his duties in the slightest, even if he did not go out of his way to touch people directly. Some knew he was also a touch telepath, some hadn’t the slightest idea that Vulcans felt emotions through touch. He didn’t blame them; Vulcans were not usually found off-Vulcan. Regardless, it didn’t hamper Spock’s work ability.

He did not expect Jim’s hand to feel like _that_. As he clasped it, a shot of electricity travelled up his arm and settled firmly in his stomach. It made him shiver; he felt warmth start to spread through his entire body. He hoped, for his own dignity, that he had not flushed green.

_What was _that? Spock wondered to himself, aghast. _That could not possibly have been … _

He was not going to _think _the word arousal. It was not going to enter in his consciousness. Even if they had bonded somewhat during the day or so they had been stranded, Spock did not _like _him.

The arousal was quickly overtaken by what Jim was feeling.

Humans were not typically so _clear. _Being psi-null, human emotions never really leapt out to him. More accomplished and skilled telepaths could tease them out, certainly, but Spock rarely felt anything when he touched a human. Pike had touched him casually on a number of occasions and Spock felt nothing.

That was not the case with Jim. Jim was _guilty _over trapping Spock on this island, and he was _hungry, _very _hungry, _and there was an underlying sense of _familiarity _of this entire situation that made him _anxious, _yes, and he was _scared, _but he was willing to try and work with Spock on this, because he _trusted _him.

How unusual. Spock at first wondered if Jim had some telepathic ancestry, but Jim would have mentioned that before. Besides, he had grown up in Iowa. Iowa was not known for being spectacularly well-represented in alien species.

“Thanks.” Jim brushed the sand off his uniform. “Alright. Let’s just saw the island in half and go straight that way until we reach the other side of the shore.” He pointed off towards the forest. “Better plan than nothing. And if we see anything that doesn’t look _too _poisonous, I’m calling dibs.”

Spock could not find fault with that plan, though he mentally noted that he was not going to allow Jim to eat anything, regardless of its poisonous appearance. “If we find an advanced species, allow me to communicate.” Spock instructed. “We will ask them for assistance – or, at the very minimum, see if they have the equipment whereupon I can build a scanner.”

“Gotcha.” Jim reached the treeline. Spock quickened his pace until he overtook him, disappearing into the woods first.

“As a warning, Jim, and a point of knowledge – I am a touch telepath.”

Jim paused in his tracks for a moment, and Spock looked over his shoulder to watch his face. There was no approval, no disapproval, only … shock. “Well, shit.” He broke into a jog to catch up with him. “So did you feel anything interesting?”

“Why are you asking me? Do you not know your own emotions?”

“Well – _yeah. _But I want to know what you felt.”

Spock knew it was juvenile, knew that it was beneath him, but he was in a good mood upon the creation of a plan. “_Everything, _Jim.” he responded coyly as they crossed further into the forest. The lingering electric sensation danced across his back before he told himself to pull it together.

“That’s cool. Sometimes, I feel like humans got the evolutionary short stick, you know? You’ve got touch telepathy, Klingons can take a bullet to any organ system and still kick, Betazoids can literally read minds – and what do humans have?”

Spock considered it a moment as they trekked further into the forest. As they crossed through some underbrush, some small, furred creature chattered at him angrily and scampered away on three legs. Above, Spock witnessed the appearance of a bird with a beak no wider than a hypodermic needle whistle.

Flowers curled around the base of a tree, reaching up towards the sky. There were mushrooms – or what Spock thought were mushrooms, until he saw a turtle-like creature with spores on its back shudder and start to walk away.

If only he had his analyzer on him. He enjoyed being on the Enterprise for this precise reason – this was not a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but every other week. If this planet was truly uninhabited by advanced life, a research vessel would stay in orbit around this planet for years to investigate and categorize everything.

And Spock would move on to the next exciting adventure.

Or, he would, if he weren’t imminently going to be discharged. Spock’s wonder was curbed as he considered Jim’s question.

“Fervor,” Spock eventually concluded.

“God, that’s such a gimme answer. Tell me, how is ‘_fervor’ _cooler than actual touch telepathy?”

“I was born with touch telepathy, as was every member of the Vulcan race. It is as normal to us as fervor is to you – and, conversely, fervor is as abnormal to us as touch telepathy is to you.” Spock took the lead as they walked carefully through the underbrush. A fern brushed across his face, leaving a sticky residue. _Sap. _Interesting. “Humanity, as a whole, has thrown themselves at every new discovery with reckless zealotry. Industry, humanitarianism, space exploration – there appears to be no area in which humans quietly concede not to take part. You must be the _best _in everything.”

“Yeah, but that’s not always a good thing. I don’t know. You can be passionate about dicking people over.” Jim accidentally tread on a root behind him, and Spock shot him a dark glance. _Try not to damage the ecosystem. _

Jim placed both his hands up in apology, as soon as Spock walked in a spider-web. Or – a web in general, because the creature who spun it and was hissing at him was almost lizard-like in nature. Concerning.

“Touch telepathy is also not inherently good,” Spock explained as he patiently removed the sticky webbing from his face. “Consider the Romulans, who have used it for torture. It is not inherently an advantage or a disadvantage, but simply a facet of life.”

“Yeah, but individual humans – I mean, Lieutenant Commander Piger. _That _guy?”

Spock shrugged his shoulders. “I was considering humanity as a whole. Individual humans may, such as Lieutenant Commander Piger, fall short. But subspace travel cannot be invented alone.”

“Fair enough.” Jim didn’t seem convinced, but Spock knew he was not qualified enough to advocate for the strengths of humanity. His father had found a suitable mate in a human; that had been explanation enough to him for humanity’s worth.

“Ma etek natyan teretuhr lau etek shetau weh-lo'uk do tum t'on,” Spock recited. The shore was no longer visible behind them; they were completely encapsulated by the forest. They seemed to be on no other path than ‘straight’, which was fine for now. If there was a massive compound at the center of the island, they would run into it. Jim sent him a quizzical look, and Spock translated: “We have differences. May we, together, become greater than the sum of both of us. It is one of the teachings of Surak, who led the Reformation of Vulcans into their logical state.”

“Wow. That’s a very – no offense to you guys, it’s a great idea, but Vulcans don’t strike me as wanting to hold hands around a single and sing _Kumbaya.” _

“We are fallible. We forget. And we can fall victim to precisely the same failings as any other species, including vanity.”

Perhaps he had been too difficult on Jim, now that he thought on it. Jim had saved his life, now, and while he _had _gotten him into this situation … Jim was not a man who meant ill will. He would have been good for Starfleet, if this hadn’t gotten in the way. Highly unfortunate. They travelled for some time in silence as Spock considered this. Jim was not a bad man.

“Do you – Spock, am I going crazy here, or are we following a trail?”

Spock looked down. This was indeed a trail – one that had been trodden many times before, by feet completely unlike him and Jim’s own. The path seemed to be made up of concentric circles, all overlapping one another and leading a way further into the forest.

It was possible that this was made by an animal, perhaps a herd.

Given the size of the island, it was unlikely. More likely: _people. _Spock met eyes with Jim – something urgent passed between them -- and then they both broke out into a run to follow it.

If they were sufficiently advanced (or even, Spock thought internally, had mastered basic _tools), _he could build a scanner, perhaps even a transmitter. He could dive and scavenge the shuttle for parts. They could leave and face their punishment, yes, but most importantly – _they could leave. _

Jim had put on a burst of speed ahead of him, overzealous to find the end. It was only when they came to the edge of a cliff that Spock grasped him by the edge of his shirt to prevent him from falling over.

“Holy shit,” Jim muttered, hands going to the sides of his head. “Holy _shit, _Spock, I was right, I was so – so fucking _right.” _

Indeed, as they looked down into what was clearly a small research encampment, Spock had to agree – Jim had been very, very fucking right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! The boys are getting along, for now.  
So for Spock's story, I incorporated some archaic/iffy-canon things into his backstory. The kahswan/coming of age ceremony is briefly mentioned in The Animated Series and expands just a tiny bit more in one of the novels, and basically involves a young Vulcan (think Spock does it at ... eh ... 12?) spending a week or so in Vulcan's Forge, an area of intense heat and little-to-no food. Basically to test their 'do not harm' principles. Spock ends up killing a lizard and is super guilty about it, keeps the lizard horn as a reminder. I think it has some interesting connotations, especially with Jim's backstory as a Tarsus IV survivor (but I didn't want to risk this becoming a Jim-Was-On-Tarsus-IV story, which is why it's only briefly touched upon). 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's left commented/kudos'ed/read the story! I appreciate them all a lot, and always encourage people to leave comments about what they feel w.r.t. the story! Thank you, and see you next Sunday!


	10. Chew

The encampment was not very large, perhaps the size and shape of the _Enterprise’s _bridge. They carefully climbed down the small hill to approach it, falling silent between themselves. As per Starfleet regulation, they kept their hands raised in what they would hope was a universal gesture of peace. This meeting could be a blessing from the heavens, but at the end: they had no idea what they were walking into. These people could be hostile. Even if they weren’t, Spock had no hope of speaking their language.

Spock had taken a course on First Contact. Specifically, he remembered a lesson about proper conduct when there were no universal translators and no common basis of understanding. It was a lot of slow movements and gentle voices. Still, to learn something in the classroom and to put it into action were quite different skillsets, indeed.

The lesson paled in his mind, compared to another frightening lesson he remembered in the course: how many First Contacts unfortunately ended in the Starfleet officer’s death.

87 incidents since the founding of the Federation, resulting in 243 dead Starfleet officers.

There were two tents in the camp, both larger than Spock would expect – each the size of a Starfleet shuttle. A table of scientific equipment stood near the edge of the rough circle, whereas a burnt-out firepit formed the centerpiece of the base. This was not a permanent settlement, but rather one meant purely for scientific research. Travellers.

Odd – Spock had made a circuitous route around the island and had seen nothing that indicated how they had gotten here across the water. There had been no boats, no boards, no canoes. Perhaps an aircraft that had let them off and flown back, but leaving no evidence of their arrival?

As they crossed the border of the camp, Spock heard a small stream bubbling nearby the tents. They would have needed to set up camp near a water source, for their own personal usage … or perhaps even to power their equipment. _Interesting. _

“Hello?” Jim called out as he approached a tent, wandering away from Spock. Spock dropped one hand to grasp for Jim futilely, but Jim was already beyond his reach. _Why are you speaking Standard, idiot, don’t go in that tent --!_ “Hello, we’re two Starfleet officers, and we don’t mean any harm, but – _fuck me!” _

In alarm and unconcerned for his own safety, Spock was at Jim’s side in a few great leaps. He was peering inside the tent. When he saw Spock next to him, Jim held the flap back for Spock to look in. “It’s empty. There’s nobody here.”

“Is swearing the appropriate response here?” Spock chastised lightly. “I thought you were in danger.”

“I’m letting you know right now that if I’m in danger, I’ll just scream. No words necessary.” Jim dropped the flap of the tent behind him to explore deeper within, and Spock went to investigate the other. More scientific equipment there, and storage for other materials. Except … a few of the bags had clearly been eaten at by various forest creatures. He peered through a hole in a rough woven sack, seeing the light shine through it. Mice, or mice-like creatures. A problem with vermin.

A large box was placed in the corner; upon further examination, Spock caught sight of what he immediately concluded to be a first-aid kit. There were various creams and pills, as well as sterile (or what he presumed were sterile) bandages that he would take advantage of later. 

Why was everything so _large? _Spock picked up the bandages to examine it, noting that the width of the cloth was similar to the length of his hand, from wrist to fingertip. _A large native species then? _Spock wondered internally. As he touched the bandages, a waxy, sticky residue transferred onto his hand. _Ew. _He quickly brushed his hand off on his pants, berating himself for such an error. _This is an uncontacted, unknown species. Don’t touch things. You could’ve died, if that had been poisonous and absorbed through the skin. If you aren’t intelligent, then you have very little utility. _The bandage was placed back into the box. He would make do with the strips of his own shirt, still bound tightly up and down his arm.

He took a step outside the tent to examine the outdoor scientific equipment, piled high on a table. Jim was still rustling around in the other tent. Spock raised his head to do a quick sweep of the encampment again. Nobody. Disappointing, but likely beneficial. Less dangerous. _But you could have made First Contact with an uncontacted species, _Spock’s human half whined at him.

Moss had completely overtaken the lower portion of the table. Some of the equipment had grown rusty, clearly from being left out in the rain of the past few nights. Curiously, the table was also positioned quite high, reaching the bottom of Spock’s ribcage. _Large native species. _

“Nobody has been here in some time,” Spock informed Jim, turning around just as Jim came out of the tent. His companion’s uniform was covered in dust of some unknown description, but Spock was aware of humanity’s tendency to get filthy in any situation.

Practically, this situation was advantageous. They had no way of communicating with an undiscovered species, no way to guarantee they weren’t hostile, nothing to trade. Most of the scientific equipment being more-or-less ruined made Spock feel less guilty about cannibalizing it for parts. And yet …

“Is it shitty of me to be kind of disappointed that we didn’t find anyone?” Jim asked, voicing Spock’s internal thoughts.

“Yes.”

“Figures.” Jim walked over to the equipment, turning it over between his hands. Spock did the same, noting their weight and heft. The oxidation patterns allowed him to make a few general conclusions about what materials were used. With a grunt, he pried open a boxy machine to examine the inside. At first, his mind despaired – _too complicated, not smart enough, not good enough – _but after a minute or two of examination, Spock began to see similarities between their mechanics and his own. He could do this. Difficult but not impossible.

“Whoa. Whoa, whoa,” Jim started when Spock started to take apart the machinery further, removing some wires with a loud _crack. _“Should we – it’s not ours.”

“This campsite has been abandoned and this equipment is functionally useless for their purposes. It is likely that they will not return. If they do,” Spock considered, “We will voice our predicament as clearly as possible and hope that they understand. We have few options.”

Either they could potentially offend a native species, or they could perish on the beach. They could wait for help … that might never come. _Pike will come, _Spock tried to convince himself, before that _voice _came back to him: _Unless he’s decided that you and Kirk are not worth the trouble. _

Jim nodded in grim agreement. It was not a _moral _decision_, _perhaps, but Spock rationalized it to himself. These instruments, as they stood, were unusable due to the rust. Moss covered most of the campsite. Even if these people returned, Spock assumed that the shock of seeing another species would cover for the shock of the theft.

“There appeared to be a bag of tools in that tent,” Spock remarked, pointing to the supply tent he had walked into earlier. He noted that his finger was trembling in a distinctly un-Vulcan manner. _Head injury could lead to a loss of fine motor control, _Spock recited to himself, and quickly lowered his hand. He was fine. “Could you fetch them for me? I will need your assistance in engineering a few objects.”

Spock’s momentary moral hesitation was over. Finding this encampment had been one of the first boons they had run into while on the island, and Spock was going to take full advantage. Besides, if his head injury was starting to lead to debilitating physiological effects, Spock needed to take action.

First, he needed to create an atmospheric scanner in order to detect the location of the _Enterprise _(or a communicator on the island, if possible). Secondly, he needed to create a bioanalyzer in order to determine the chemical components of food on the island. If it took several days for the _Enterprise _to return, they would need to eat before then.

This was his area. And Jim’s, too, presumably. Although Jim’s primary station was in a weapon bay, Spock knew the man to be somewhat adept at engineering. Pike had once remarked that Jim could’ve been in Engineering, had he wanted to be. Spock knew that Engineering wouldn’t allow Jim’s ego to flex as it wanted, though.

A moment passed and Jim exited the tent with the bag of tools thrown over his shoulder. The bag was bulky and cumbersome, half the size of a human on its own. Spock would have to be creative with how he maneuvered the tools. As Jim approached, Spock realized to his horror – he was chewing on something.

“Jim, what are you eating?” Spock kept his voice calm as he straightened up from the table to look at him. Jim frowned and dropped the tools on the ground. Spock ignored them.

Even worse, Jim swallowed what he’d been eating and coughed. “There was some food they stored in the tents. I think some sort of grain – it had the consistency of raw rice? Taste, too. Didn’t look like the rats had gotten to it yet.”

All the momentary goodwill Spock had previously held towards Jim was completely obliterated in that second. He backed away from the scientific table to walk forward towards Jim, trying to examine him. Nothing wrong so far. Spock still kept a respectful twelve inches away, as if Jim were going to explode to bits in front of his nose.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You ate an unknown food, on an unexplored planet, without at least checking to see what it may have contained. _Jim.” _

It was one of the basic rules of Starfleet Academy. Certainly, Jim was crass and hot-headed, but even he wasn’t capable of making such a colossally stupid mistake like this. Maybe he hadn’t dropped dead immediately, but that meant nothing. There could be any number of parasites or bacteria in his system, tearing him apart from the inside out. Was the man _suicidal? _

“Look, Spock, I feel fine. I ate a few grains first before taking a little more – I’ve _done _that before.”

“Where,” Spock demanded, sharp. “Where have you done that before?”

The same look crossed his face as when Jim had lied to him earlier about which colony he had been sent to, but Spock was surprised that he, in fact, did not lie to him in this instance. He simply evaded the question. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, I took a risk, and they’re fine. Go and have some if you want. I left the bag open.”

It was useless to argue with him, evidently. There was nothing else to be done, with no equipment. He couldn’t even formulate a _theory _about what would happen to the man. Perhaps Jim’s exceedingly illogical luck would work in his favor yet again, and he would survive.

Or he would perish and Spock would have to sheepishly explain to Captain Pike that Jim had died from his own stupidity.

Spock was satisfied with giving him a mild glare, for the time being.

“You are going to help me build a bioanalyzer.” Spock turned back towards the table pulling apart the instrument he had been toying with earlier. It fell apart easily enough in his hands. “Please endeavor not to place anything else in your mouth before it is constructed. Understood?”

“That’s definitely the first time I’ve heard _that.” _

Jim rolled his eyes, frustrated, but nonetheless complied and began to separate the components Spock was pulling out of the instrument. He was a competent worker, intelligent. Although he worked in the phaser crew, Spock saw for himself that Jim had a true talent for engineering. Spock idly wondered why he did not take that route but remained silent on the matter. He was too annoyed to make pleasant conversation with Jim.

The atmospheric scanner could wait later, he supposed. He _was _hungry, after all, and the _Enterprise _could wait where his own hunger drive could not. Spock sorted through the parts and began to create a bioanalyzer, occasionally requesting that Jim retrieve a tool from the large bag he’d retrieved.

Jim did not speak. Unusual, for him. Spock raised his eyes every so often as they wordlessly worked on their own parts of the instrument. Occasionally, Jim would grunt if he needed a part or a tool, but that was all he could get out of him. He wondered if Jim was angry at him for snapping – but, Spock vowed to himself, he was fully within his rights to snap. Jim had been _stupid. _

Between the two competent hands, the bioanalyzer was constructed within fifteen minutes, and was nearly at completion before Spock realized why Jim had been so quiet.

He was wheezing and was trying _very, _very hard to hide it.

Spock looked up at him and saw that the edges of his eyes were red. Indeed, most of his face had flushed a dark red. “_Fine,” _he wheezed out loosely. Leaning forward, he placed both of his hands on the table and ducked his head, as if willing his windpipe to open. The gasped exhale was choked, and he could not seem to will the same amount of air back in. As he outstretched his limbs, Spock saw that red hives were dotted up and down his arms.

Jim systems were failing. Clearly. Spock passed to the other side of the table and looped his arm around Jim’s waist, leading him somewhere to sit down, to rest. _Will he recover on his own? Will it pass soon? _Spock thought frantically. _Or will he - _

They managed a few steps before Jim shuddered and went limp under Spock’s grip. He would have tumbled onto the ground if Spock hadn’t caught him. Keeping Jim steady, Spock laid him out on the dirt of the base. Jim was muttering weakly under his breath, though it was indecipherable.

It was only then that Spock realized what this was.

An allergic reaction. The first aid kit. Spock’s eyes darted towards the bioanalyzer, and then towards the storage tent.

_If _this species had allergies.

_If _this species used hormones to treat those allergies.

_If _this species placed hormones in their first aid kits.

_If _such hormones reacted well with Jim’s system.

_If _he could do all this before Jim’s systems gave out.

He did not have time to contemplate. Spock snatched up the finished bioanalyzer and sprinted for the storage tent. Inside, he cracked open the first aid kit. There was a collection of vials and syringes, all with text that he had no hope of deciphering.

He ran the analyzer over the compounds as quickly as he could. Some of the molecules were familiar to him (but unhelpful for this case), some were entirely unfamiliar (and he could not hope to interpret them before Jim expired), and some were objectively poison to the human body. Useless compounds were thrown over his shoulder haphazardly as he continued pawing through the box.

Then – there it was, almost hidden at the bottom of the container. Spock laid the bioanalyzer on a syringe and found the molecule for epinephrine staring back at him, as familiar and comforting as if he’d synthesized it on the _Enterprise _himself.

He threw the bioanalyzer on the floor of the tent and snatched up the syringe, yanking the tent flap back to return to Jim. Jim had stopped muttering (had, indeed, went pale), and Spock could scarcely feel his pulse when he kneeled next to him. He wasted no time in injecting the syringe directly into his leg.

This was so _needless. _Why had Jim done this? Jim should have known the risks. Spock’s hand went across Jim’s chest, before settling on his wrist. “Breathe, Jim,” he coaxed, feeling nothing telepathically from his companion. The pulse was so faint. “Breathe. Breathe. For me, breathe.”

It took time. It took far more time than Spock would have liked, but every second seemed like an aching hour to him.

Still, eventually, Jim’s breathing began to even out. The pulse was more steady, warm against Spock’s fingers. He had not quite attained consciousness yet, but that was understandable. Spock started to feel some stirring of emotion from Jim’s form, though it was nothing more than sluggish confusion for now.

He started to worry. The syringe had contained epinephrine, but Spock was uncertain if it _only _contained epinephrine. He hadn’t had time to check. For all he knew, he’d poisoned Jim worse, sentenced him to a more painful death.

That didn’t seem to be the case, currently, and Spock squashed the fearful thought in his mind. Indeed, Jim was recovering. Spock scooped him up in his arms and went to the other tent, endeavoring to find somewhere more comfortable for him.

The tent did have two beds, but they were much, much larger than he was expecting. More of a hammock than a flat surface, Spock noted that it could have fit three or four humans, easily. Images of a massive alien race floated into his head for a moment, before he gave a shake. It would be illogical to ponder needlessly, and it would do for Jim’s recovery.

The swelling had gone down on Jim’s face and hands when he placed him down into the hammock. The hammock rocked unsteadily and Spock readjusted its bindings to keep Jim still. Spock watched him. He kept his hand pressed against Jim’s neck. The pulse was growing stronger, but Jim continued to remain unconscious. His breathing was steady yet. The sluggish confusion didn’t change, but Jim’s life signs were returning. _Okay. _

He would wake soon. Spock removed his hold from Jim’s wrist and sat down next to the hammock. A few minutes passed before Spock stood up again. He had done all that he could for Jim, but time was still of the essence for the pair. Spock retrieved the tools to create the scanner. Bits and bobs of technology were soon neatly arranged in a semi-circle around his figure. Hearing Jim slumber behind him, Spock started to build it – the device that would, hopefully, locate the _Enterprise, _perhaps even send out a distress call.

And he’d do that, and he’d get them rescued, and he’d do it keeping the _incompetent brat _behind him alive all-the-while.


	11. To Belong

Fifteen minutes had passed before he felt Jim stir next to him. Good. Spock looked over his shoulder at Jim covertly, fidgeting in the bed, before he saw his eyes open. Spock remained silent as Jim seemed to orient himself, hands going to press against his neck curiously. _He lives, _Spock noted, _with a diagnosis of extreme stupidity. _

Spock returned his attentions to his device, ignoring him.

It had taken all of ten minutes to conclude that there was no way to detect anything less than the size of a planet, if one was simply looking above the atmosphere into space. The parts here were not sensitive enough to detect anything else. His plans for making a functional scanner were bust, and that was frustrating.

The _Enterprise _was simply too small to detect that far away, and Spock had despaired as he’d reviewed the output of the scanner. Frankly, he had had to defeat the urge to dash the instrument against the floor of the tent. Spock was hungry, and it was growing late once more, and that, combined with Jim’s antics, made him irritable.

Thankfully, Spock had discovered something else of interest from the scanner’s readings. A larger scientific base, securely on the volcanic island they had seen from the shuttle. If that was a ‘hub’ of sorts, Spock was confident he could find something there to assist – perhaps even something that could send a distress message to the _Enterprise. _

Although Spock was deeply frustrated, at least he wasn’t in despair. They had a next step. How they were going to cross the ocean to get there was an issue that could be dealt with later. After eating, Spock’s stomach quietly hoped.

Jim swung his feet around the edge of the hammock and let them rest on the dirt next to Spock’s waist. They slammed a little too forcefully on the ground next to him. Spock shut his own eyes and took a deep breath – in through his nose, and out through his mouth, slowing his heart rate, _slow, slow. _

He had been unable to meditate properly since they had crash-landed on the island. A few hours of sleep against rocky ground hardly counted. Although the occasional isolation from Jim had helped, Spock felt his patience begin to wear thin already. Jim had _been so stupid. _

“You are not a fool,” Spock accused, looking straight ahead at the entrance of the tent. “I know you are not a fool. Why did you do such a thing?”

“Give … give me a second.” Jim ducked his head low and took a deep breath. “Getting my bearings. Dizzy.”

“You could have perished. Because you acted like a _child.” _

“Spock, I don’t need this right now.” The frustration in Jim’s voice was palatable. To push himself upward, Jim placed a hand on Spock’s shoulder as he lost his balance. His hand warm against Spock’s bare skin, Spock felt white-hot shame shoot from deep in Jim’s mind across to Spock. He was embarrassed, deeply so.

Spock nodded. _Good! _He wanted to spit.

“Do not do that again.”

“Yeah. That’s – promise that I won’t.” Jim waved his finger emphatically at Spock to make such a promise. “Uh, out of curiosity, how am I not … you know, dead?”

Spock reached for the bioanalyzer and passed it into Jim’s hands. “You passed out. There was something that appeared to be a first-aid kit in the storage tent. I scanned the compounds in it until I came across an adrenaline analogue. It was administered to you, and you woke up some minutes later.”

“So, wait, you injected me with some alien medicine? I mean, there could’ve been _anything _else in it besides adrenaline. Could’ve been straight arsenic. Could’ve boiled me alive.”

“Accurate. With no knowledge of the anatomy of these people, it was truly unknown.” Spock looked up at Jim, his expression a tight glare. “But there was little to lose.”

When Spock spoke, he meant it in the sense that he had two options – try something potentially dangerous and risk killing Jim, or trying nothing at all and Jim expiring regardless. It had been logical and considered. Nothing more than classical statistics.

What Jim understood was _well, Jim is so expendable and useless that I was fully willing to try weird alien technology on him. _

Suddenly, Jim had slung an arm around his neck. It roughly knocked Spock forward against Jim’s shoulder, the device almost falling from his hands into the dirt. Before he could move (_or even to make a noise_), Jim had pressed a firm, loud kiss against the top of his head before pulling away with a _mwah. _“Aw, you’re the best, you gigantic asshole.”

Spock had placed his hands on the front of Jim’s torso in order to steady himself, both palms pressed on opposite sides of Jim’s ribcage. Cumulatively, it was a lot of touch to process.

There was no formal expectation of exclusivity for a betrothal, though very few were ever broken. For Vulcans who preferred to stay on Vulcan their entire lives, they did not have a very logical reason to leave the person they were betrothed to as a child. To find someone else implied that one engaged in romantic feeling for another, which would be _incredibly _illogical.

However, for travelling scientists, or occupational differences, or (Spock always privately thought, but knew that no Vulcan would ever admit to it) falling in love with someone else, they would occasionally be broken nevertheless.

_I could … _

He did not know why that suddenly popped into his mind as he pulled away from Jim, warmth spiking up his forearms and into his chest. His _heart _was pounding, a hummingbird beat against his side that almost hurt. He knew his face was flushed a dark green, made even worse by Jim grinning at him still. _Stop looking at me like that. Warmth. _

_No. Stupid, _Spock told himself, staring deep into his enchanting blue eyes. _Your choices are T’Pring and T’Pris. No! Your choice is T’Pring. That is all. You will bond with her, and you will have as many children as is appropriate, and you will … _He’d fallen into Jim’s gaze and was unable to extricate himself. _Hm … what a beautiful mind … ask him to touch you again. _

Spock found himself forgiving Jim instantly for what he had done, goosebumps rising across his entire body. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling, but he knew that he _was _feeling. That was un-Vulcan and could lead to catastrophic results.

“Alright. Back to business. What’ve we got with this?” Jim asked, taking the exoplanetary scanner from Spock’s hand. Spock only blinked at him, numbly handing it over. He did not offer any resistance as Jim started to fiddle with the equipment. “Ah, damn. This isn’t going to reach as far as space. Couldn’t you find anything that’d get us scanner capability up there?”

“Hm?” Spock stated stupidly, eyes focused on Jim’s face – who were, in turn, focused on the equipment.

“You. Spock. Find metal. That scan. The stars.”

All at once, the gravity of the situation came upon Spock. Yes, they were trying to find something to scan the stars to allow them to return to the Enterprise to get dishonorably discharged. A lifetime of a deeply unhappy bonding and devotion to duty. _Yes. _He reached for the scanner, snapping back to life.

“No. However, I have determined the location of a larger research facility that would, in all probability, have the parts required to send a message to the _Enterprise.” _

“And that would be … ?”

“In the center of the volcanic island,” Spock announced, showing the scanner to Jim. “It is my working hypothesis that the island is resource-rich, and thus the species on this planet decided it would be prudent to construct their main research facility there. It is likely that this research base was only a satellite location.”

Jim grunted as he examined the scanner. “It’s kind of weird we haven’t … _seen _any signs of life, though, right? Like actual, physical – people. We haven’t seen any people.”

“It is unusual. I would posit that there had been an extinction event recently, but …”

“If it was the volcano, the air is perfectly breathable. If it was some sort of tsunami or hurricane, this camp seems perfectly habitable. If it was war, we would’ve seen … like, _some _bodies.”

“Precisely.” Spock took the scanner back and made a few adjustments. The map of the world was perfectly clear in his mind, still. The main volcanic island was not very far away, but there was still the issue of crossing a body of water. “Though that does not eliminate the possibility of widespread disease, or natural species extinction.”

“Natural? How do you mean?”

“When a species decides that survival is not their first interest.”

“Oh. You mean, like,” Jim dragged a singular finger across his throat. Spock blinked slowly at him. Jim completed the charade by a dramatic display of death, including bulging eyes and collapsing back down into the hammock with a gurgle.

In that moment, it was very, very easy to convince himself that his momentary infatuation was simply that – momentary.

“No, Jim. Not mass suicide.” Spock sighed. “When Vulcans first left behind their emotional dispositions and embraced logic, our population declined severely – almost to where we were unable to recover, especially considering the natural hostility of the Vulcan planet. Vulcans were firmly fixed on devoting themselves to progress and logic, having little interest in reproduction.”

It felt unusual to express a history lesson to Jim, and more unusual still to have Jim _listen _to him intently. Spock had learned this lesson over and over during his education. How the Vulcan species, already reduced by senseless war, had declined further still as the species expressed little interest in having children. How they had cast aside any expressions of emotion so fervently that even the act of intercourse was deemed uselessly emotional and intimate.

Spock still saw echoes of it in the Vulcan elders, certainly, but Vulcan had grown somewhat since then in their values. “It is a possible option for their species, but that is not the foremost issue right now.”

“Right. Getting there is, so we can hail the Enterprise.” Jim sighed out, running a hand over the side of his neck. “Boat?”

Spock nodded. The most logical conclusion. “Boat.”

“Do you know how to build one?”

Spock knew how to build starships. It was all theoretical, of course, but he had studied their schematics intently for years. He had found their structure – thousands and thousands of small components working together to send a gargantuan object hurtling through space – instinctively complex and pleasing. While he preferred to remain in computer engineering, he had a special kind of respect for the Engineering department.

Nautical ships weren’t … _that _much different. More forces at work, but Spock was not ignorant to physical labor.

Besides that, Spock was _not _going to admit not knowing something to Jim.

“It is not difficult,” Spock answered vaguely, showing the scanner to Jim. “We should expect the journey to take at least several hours. We should, if possible, bring along sustenance and water.” His eyes flicked towards the sky. “Would it be possible to leave by sunset? It will shield us from most of the sun, ideally.”

Jim groaned in pain next to him, but Spock suspected it was mostly for dramatic effect. “Aye-aye, whatever you say.”

His head tilted back against the hammock. Although Spock wasn’t sleepy yet, he had certainly pushed himself too far for the past couple of days. Not to mention that his head ached, still. He noticed that the trembling in his hands had increased, and he was having difficulty concentrating.

It was easy to teeter on the edge of helplessness. What was the _point _of working to escape the planet if only a discharge awaited him? At the very least, surely he could rest here with an injured head and lick his wound. A few hours. Sailing at daybreak wouldn’t be that bad.

Suddenly besides him, Jim groaned and stood up. He stumbled, woozy, before righting himself.

“Alright. I think I saw a laser cutter back in the camp center. I can do that, maybe get some fibers together and start something. You want to try and get some food together? Uh, just … for yourself. I can take the scanner later and try to find something that won’t make me die.”

Jim had that many allergies, to the point where he couldn’t expect Spock to feasibly remember them? Odd. “You are recovered enough?” Spock asked lethargically, gesturing to Jim’s figure. “We may wait if you need to recover fully.”

“Me? Nah. Golden. Perfectly good.” In that moment, Spock did not believe Jim was ‘golden’, but Jim was already exiting the tent. Spock pushed himself up to a standing position. He took a hesitant step towards the tent exit and side-stepped, hard and unintended, to the side. Spock shut his eyes and willed the nausea to fade. Reaching up, he touched the back of his head. The injury was disturbingly warm, and worse still, the bandages were slick with blood. He would have to change them again soon. Spock pulled himself together and exited the tent. “Alright. You go search through the food tent and I’ll start on the boat. Won’t be anything fancy, but it’ll get us there.”

There was something to be said about Jim’s persistence. Already, he was picking up the laser cutter and adjusting his fingers to the settings on it. The buttons were too large, meant for species with bigger digits than delicate human fingers. Still, Jim seemed to be adapting quickly.

Perhaps he had been _momentarily _harsh in his assessment in Jim’s character and intelligence, Spock considered, even as Jim accidentally set the laser setting too high. The beam of focused light shot out of the end, sawing off a leg of the equipment table (and shooting several meters into the packed dirt of the camp). The entire table shuddered and fell, causing the dilapidated instruments to fall onto the floor.

Jim grinned at Spock and shot him a thumbs up.

_No, you were very accurate in your initial assessment. _

Regardless, Jim was learning to handle alien technology, and Spock was mostly confident that he would manage to remain alive if Spock focused his attention elsewhere. Spock took his scanner and retreated into the supply camp, trying not to think about how his heart had stuttered a little when Jim smiled at him.

Foolishly, he found himself thinking of his father and mother. Sarek did not often speak of his past before Spock, and Spock knew nothing more than a few basic details. His mother was somewhat more expressive, encouraging Spock’s questions. And Spock _had _been curious – _why, Mother, would you leave Earth to live in an environment such as Vulcan? To leave_ _all that you knew and take a risk with Father on a new life? _

His mother had simply smiled at him, looked adoringly at Sarek, and replied that being with him had never felt like much of a risk at all.

Spock had scoffed, at the time, and he still did not consider it a satisfactory answer to his question. Now, he wondered on it more. Sarek and his mother had courted for a year before bonding, in accordance with human romance customs, during which he had relocated to Earth. His father similarly had no doubts when he bonded with her, and brought her to live with him on Vulcan? To manage the barrage of insults he received for bonding with a non-Vulcan?

Spock set to work scanning the food supplies in the tent, separating them into _edible _and _not-edible _categories. The latter, unfortunately, was a lot larger than the former. No matter. They would be off this island soon, and there would likely be more food stores on the other island regardless. There would be enough to sustain him for now. Spock’s stomach grumbled pleasantly at this new task.

It was useless to think of his father’s bonding to a human. Spock was going to be bonded to a Vulcan, he told himself, and it was no use thinking otherwise. He dimly wondered if Sarek had been bonded to a Vulcan in childhood, as well – before he immediately cast out that foolishness. Of course Sarek hadn’t been. Perhaps his parents hadn’t approved of the tradition, perhaps there hadn’t been any suitable betrothal. Because if Sarek _had _been betrothed to a Vulcan, Spock had no doubt that his own genetic makeup would be _quite _different. And things would have been much easier for him, both in childhood and now.

He gathered together the supplies in a small bag, as well as binding together foodstuffs that would, ideally, be suitable for Jim (despite his allergies). It took longer than he expected, and he predicted that they only had a few hours before sunset by the time he left the tent. He cast all thoughts of bonding out of his mind, for now. There was another task at hand.

No Jim in the main campsite, only a ruined table and some tracks leading towards the beach. Spock shifted the bag over his shoulder and went towards the shore, stopping only once to fill a few containers with fresh water. There would be nothing drinkable on the ocean.

“Hey!” Jim greeted when Spock emerged onto the shoreline. In front of him was what could be charitably called a ‘raft’, with a small sail to change direction if need be. Spock was surprised he’d gotten it built so quickly. Had Jim done this before? It looked sturdy and haphazard, certainly, but nonetheless seaworthy. Spock had some trepidation about setting out into the ocean, but that feeling would remain regardless of the craft they were on. “How was the hunt, Spock?”

As Spock examined the raft, he felt some guilt for the damage they had already caused to the ecosystem. Jim had felled some trees in order to make the raft, as well as use the large, fibrous leaves to make a sail. Their crashed shuttle was still barely visible on the edge of the reef, sticking up like some mechanical island. Plus, Spock was reasonably certain that he had committed theft by taking some food from the abandoned camp.

_Principles you abandon in dire circumstances are no principles at all, _Spock thought inwardly, the pack suddenly feeling a lot heavier on his shoulder. But there was no other option, he told himself. Certainly, in this case alone, the ends justified the means – they had to escape this island.

He would face punishment for it, later. Perhaps the information they would gain about this planet would outweigh the damage they had caused to it. Perhaps he could find a way to thank the native species, if they still existed, later.

Spock stood on the raft, testing its hardiness, when he caught sight of a long, thin pole that Jim was leaning on. There was a sharp rock melded to the top of it. Some sort of pole to set off from the island, perhaps?

“Caught you looking at my rod,” Jim joked, picking it up and twirling it about in his hands. It was lightweight but quite sharp. “I figured we could quickly go hunting before we set off. Most of what I saw in the supply tent was grain-based – fine, but we’ll probably need some protein somewhere.”

“Hunting.” Spock was aghast. “Animals?”

“Unless you see any wild peanut butter or yogurt around anywhere, yeah. It’s not _ideal, _but dire circumstances, Spock. There’s plenty of animals on this island. I mean, it’s not any worse than cutting down a few trees to make a raft.”

“We will not be hunting.” Spock was firm on that matter. No matter how long they would be out there, he would not tolerate killing of any kind. His _kahs-wan_ mark seemed to burn on his shoulder, remembering the trial. _May I not kill again. _Theft and destroying a few trees was one thing, but this was quite another. “There will be no murder while we are on this island.”

“Except for, you know, the hundreds of fish we probably fucked over when we crash-landed on their living room.”

“Murder requires _intent. _I will not let you _willfully – _“

“You won’t _let_ me?” Irritation flickered across Jim’s face as he approached Spock, spear in hand. “Last time I checked, we’re the same rank. You don’t order me to do anything. Just because you’re a Vulcan doesn’t mean you’re the last say in all things morality.”

“No, but you require _guidance. _What have you done since we’ve been on this island, besides nearly kill yourself?”

“Besides rescuing you from the water and starting a fire, jackass?” Jim was glaring over at him, now. “Look, when it comes to survival, you don’t have time to fuck around with the higher moral ground. You know what the higher ground gets you? Getting picked off by a phaser rifle. I get Vulcans have nothing better to do than sit around in their labs and libraries all day and proselytize to the rest of the known galaxy – “

Something twitched in Spock’s face as he interrupted. Another human who thought Vulcans were nothing more than superior pedants. He tried to control his emotions, still, but Jim was _antagonizing _him. He knew nothing of Vulcan culture. Spock was disgusted at himself for even _considering _an attraction, earlier. “Vulcans do not revert to their savage ways simply because they are _hungry.” _

As if on cue, Jim’s stomach rumbled. Spock had no doubt that, due to his allergic reaction from earlier, he was still famished.

“Sorry, you calling me a caveman, Spock? Some kind of animal? Hey, maybe I’m just a psycho. That’s what Vulcans think everyone else is besides them, isn’t it?” Jim’s grin was dangerous. He was provoked. Spock came to the realization that, just as Jim could inspire violent emotion in him at a moment’s notice, he could do the same to him. “If this was a real survival situation – not this cushy island _bullshit ­– _you wouldn’t last a week.”

Spock’s gaze turned cold. Enough. He was not going to argue with an overly emotional, dramatic human who clearly did not have the ideals needed for Starfleet. It was good that Jim was going to be discharged, because if he kept longer in this career, he would end up getting so many people killed. Best to let Iowa have him.

Without his expression changing, Spock plucked the spear from Jim’s hands and snapped the spearhead off. It was hurled far into the ocean, and then Spock let the other portion drop to the sandy beach. It was done in silence.

The destruction of his weapon was enough for Jim. He launched himself at Spock, both hands going to his shoulders. Together, they both tumbled to the sandy beach (pain radiated from his head injury deeply). Jim punched him the stomach and Spock responded by a blow to his shoulder, making Jim whine. “Why do you have to be such a fucking asshole?” Jim growled, pinning Spock to the sand. “I have done nothing but been so fucking _nice _to you – “

“Is this _nice _by human standards?” Spock accused. He swiped his hand at Jim’s neck to get him to move, cutting the side lightly. “Somehow, thousands of years of human violence is much more logical now! Perhaps if Surak had simply burned all his writings, you and I would get along much more amicably!”

“Stop talking about Surak like I know who the fuck he is!”

“It is not my fault that your education is substandard!”

Jim only responded with an incoherent, angry yell. Spock summoned his energy and grasped Jim’s shoulders, rolling to pin him into the sand. Jim stared up at him with frenzied anger, kicking against Spock’s legs. His fingernails dug into Spock’s shoulders painfully. The experience from before, of Spock feeling dumbstruck when Jim kissed the top of his head, was far from Spock’s mind. Indeed, being pinned seemed only to aggravate Jim further as his struggling became more frantic. “Fuck you, let me go!” He hissed, before spitting directly at Spock’s face.

That was enough. Spock no longer cared if it was logical, no longer _cared _if Surak preached collaboration and teamwork, no longer cared if they were stuck on this island forever because of it. “I am building my own vessel to cross the ocean,” Spock grunted, releasing Jim on the sand. He stood over him for a second, feet on other side of Jim’s hips, before he stepped to the side. “Do as you please.”

Jim leapt to his feet, and Spock was concerned that he would rush him and try to continue the altercation – but he didn’t. Instead, he glowered coldly at Spock and retreated just-as-coldly into the forest, until Spock could no longer see him.

Spock was left alone on the shore, with only the lapping waves and occasional birdcall to fill his thoughts. He paused a moment, two, three, before he picked up the laser cutter and set to work building his own ship.

Their turbulent relationship left Spock feeling exhausted and dizzy. He had gotten his emotions under control about sixty seconds after Jim had disappeared into the forest, but he could not shy away from the fact that Jim had provoked him more than once since their short time on this island. Jim had also inspired feelings of friendship, and – _if he were being honest with himself _– arousal, too.

Did humans do this all the time? Simply react without emotional control and reason? How did they cope? Spock set to work constructing a small raft, stealing glances at Jim’s every now and then for inspiration, as he considered this. He knew, in the grand scheme of things, hunting in order to sustain oneself did not matter. Jim would not make a large dent in the environment (unless he was exceptionally stupid). And yet, _do not kill unless absolutely necessary _was one of the most sacred Vulcan principles, and Spock could not encourage such behavior.

He wondered if the fault was in himself, for being so easily provoked by Jim, or if the fault was in Jim, for constantly, consciously provoking him. Perhaps they simply didn’t work together that well. Perhaps it was his Vulcan nature. Perhaps it was Spock’s own failings as a Vulcan. _A true Vulcan wouldn’t allow himself to get angered by someone like Jim. Failing again, Spock. _

Regardless, it was moot. Soon, Spock would be discharged from Starfleet and return to Vulcan. He would bond with T’Pring, and he would have children, and Jim would be far, far away from his mind. He could work on his emotional control for the rest of his life. He would become what he needed to be. This would become nothing more than a teaching experience.

For a moment, Spock envisioned himself, many years in the feature, telling his future children about this. How he’d let himself be convinced by Jim to even engage on this foolish venture, the crash, brief moments of teamwork with Jim punctuated by random acts of violence against one another. He wondered if his children, quarter-human as they would be, would identify with the story or whether they’d chastise their father for being foolish.

He _was _foolish. Jim, at least, could rightfully say that he was what a human needed to be. Spock could not even fulfill the obligations of his own species. _The obligations of your own species, the obligations of your father, the obligations of Starfleet – truly, is there no person that you don’t disappoint? No place that you belong? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard the term 'idiots to lovers' being thrown around before, and I gotta say that I feel that is very applicable to this fic. I wanted to express three things, particularly in this last update: (1) they are actual geniuses in terms of skillset, (2) they're both junior officers and lack practical experience, (3) Spock really needs a hug.   
While I think that continued experience in Starfleet gives Spock a home and security, I do like exploring uncertain-of-his-place-in-the-world, doesn't-want-to-admit-insecurity-or-weakness!Spock. Dude leaves his whole-ass planet after telling Vulcan NASA to go fuck itself. 
> 
> \------
> 
> 2 Chapters instead of 3 this time, but if I'd done the full 3 chapter update, it would've been ... uh ... 10k words in total, which was a little much editing-wise. Either way, thank you all for reading/commenting/kudos'ing! I always love to hear people's reactions to chapters, and reading the comments is always a good time. Thanks!


	12. Shared Differences

The raft came together, haphazard and clumsy, in a manner of hours. When he finished, the sun had started to meet the edge of the horizon, casting a dim glow across the entire island. Spock looked up across the water, and then back at the forest line. For the first time, he wondered if Jim was planning on coming back or if he had stormed off forever. A half hour passed and Spock began to consider the possibility that Jim was hurt, somewhere, possibly dying.

Possibly dead.

That … might be an issue.

Jim stopped his worries in their tracks as he came through the forest line. “Alright,” he grunted coldly, approaching his raft. “Let’s get this show on the road. Stick close together.”

There was some dried blood on the edge of Jim’s shirt, and he smelled of smoke. Ah. So Jim had engaged in his hunting expedition after all. Spock looked down at his own raft, pretending that he did not notice. It would be best to pretend that he did not notice, because another fight … his head already ached. He did not want to partake in such a emotional bodily activity as an argument, again. Spock was _tired. _

Spock caught Jim looking at his raft, a puzzled expression on his face. “Is there something the matter, Jim?” He made sure to keep his voice friendly – or, rather, as friendly as a Vulcan’s natural state could be.

“Um, nah. No. All good.”

There was something tense about Jim’s voice that Spock could not place his finger on, but he did not press Jim on it. Still, Spock began to have concerns about the integrity of his raft. It _looked _like Jim’s, but once or twice during the construction process, Spock began to have doubts about his own ability to make a seafaring vessel. How did _Jim _know how to do this so easily and Spock did not?

Jim went first, pushing his raft away from the edge of the shore, and as easily as one could imagine, he was sailing smooth and steady on the surface of the water. Spock followed not soon after, his raft bobbing perhaps ten feet behind Jim.

For perhaps fifteen minutes, it was fine.

Jim looked towards the horizon and Spock looked towards Jim. He was situated, cross-legged, on his raft. He seemed somewhat calmer than Spock had last seen him, somewhat more peaceful, and Spock felt the urge to apologize. Not from stopping Jim from killing – that was, after all, in accordance with Vulcan philosophy. But he should not have let it escalate into violence. Spock sustained no injuries from it (aside from a sore abdomen and some light crescent-shaped cuts on his neck), and Jim did not look like he was in pain, either.

It was a high-stress situation. Spock had thought he would have been flawless in coping with those, but perhaps he was not, and neither was Jim. Not for the first time, he wished he were older – perhaps, in maturity, he would grasp the emotional control that eluded him now. Perhaps in maturity, he would not be provoked so easily. He stared down at the raft, feeling faintly seasick.

They drifted away from the island until it was nothing more than a small green line. If Spock focused his eyesight, he could see the tiniest gray wreckage of their downed shuttle dotting the water. Above him, the three moons were visible just on the edge of the horizon. Spock could see no stars yet, but the entire sky was flushed orange and red and pink. A dense dusk glow settled around the water.

His raft suddenly lurched to the side from an unforeseen wave, and Spock dug his fingers down into the wood despite himself. _What? _ The water had been so calm only moments before, and now waves began to lick at the edges of his raft. He looked up at Jim’s – rocking, certainly, but not as badly as Spock’s was beginning to.

At first, Spock thought he could manage it. It would make the trip more stressful, to be certain, but he could manage stress. And then a wave crashed down on the side of the raft, casting it at almost a forty-five degree angle, and Spock scrambled to the other side of it.

“Jim?” Spock called out to the man in front of him, and despite himself, some anxiety leaked into his tone. Jim straightened his back, turned around, and saw Spock clearly flailing on his raft.

“_Shit. _Uh, Spock, hold –”

That was all Spock heard before his raft flipped over.

The waters underneath weren’t much calmer. Spock could swim (even if he did not enjoy the activity), but still struggled to reach the surface against the constant tidal forces. He looked up and saw that the waves had somehow managed to push him under, and were _continuing _to push him under, deeper, and Spock managed to surface himself just once to get a gasp of air.

Beside him, his raft got pulled under and then snapped in two, as easily as if it were made of toothpicks. Spock did not waste the time to feel regret as he was yanked back under. The science of it all, the actual physical mechanics of waves and water, were quite clear in his mind – and yet he did not quite grasp the _magnitude _of their strength until he realized that he was going to die.

He struggled underneath the surface, feeling like something was weighing him down, down, _down_ – and then someone was pulling him up.

Jim’s arm was solidly around his chest, and they surfaced together. His companion took a large breath and Spock mimicked him, blessedly cold air filling his lungs. With one arm tucked around his shoulders, Jim swam the both of them back to his raft. “Here, Spock, give me a hand,” Jim grunted as he placed Spock’s hands onto the edge of it. Spock climbed there and collapsed in the center, soaked and pained. The raft shifted underneath his body and Spock froze in fear, before he realized that it was only Jim pulling himself up.

“Raft had a structural weakness,” Jim gasped out, flopping down on his back as he stared up at the sky. Spock was on his stomach, unwilling to move his cheek from the blessedly solid surface. The raft moved somewhat, gently urged this way and that by the ocean, but it nevertheless felt _steady. _ “Soon as the waves started to pull it under, it wasn’t gonna come back up again. Saw it on the beach. Sorry. Didn’t tell you. Bratty.”

Spock’s eyes were shut, every breath painful. “Fine. Thank you.” Each syllable was punctuated by a sharp inhale. “For. Get-ting. Me.”

“Don’t mention it, buddy,” Jim sighed, running his hands over his face. “Don’t mention it.”

For a while, all Spock could hear was their own ragged breathing and the sound of the ocean. He became rapidly aware of how cold he was, the water drying on his bare torso and soaking his pants. This was the second time Jim had rescued him from the water, Spock realized. Aching guilt filled his body about fighting with him earlier. _He may be reckless and emotional, _Spock considered, _but you must work with him if you wish to survive this. _

He turned to his side and reached for the pack, still tied around his shoulder. “Everything in working order?” Jim asked. The pack _seemed _waterproof, for which Spock was grateful, and he started to run the scanner over various foodstuffs there. They did not seem to be tainted by the seawater. Good. He showed the scanner display to Jim and passed the food over. Jim raised an eyebrow at him, questioning, before he realized his meaning. “Oh, you’re – you’re feeding me. Thanks. Yeah, uh, I don’t think this’ll put my immune system to red alert.”

Spock took a portion for himself and sat up, starting to chew and swallow. It tasted like uncooked rice. Unpleasant, but it sustained him still. Together, they ate in silence for some time, Spock sitting with his knees half-pulled to his chest. After a moment, Jim propped his head up on his elbow and started to drag his finger through the grain, drawing mindless patterns. “I apologize,” Spock eventually spoke, breaking the silence. Someone had to. The waters had calmed as quickly as they had stirred up, leaving them in hazy dusk. The sea, the raft, even the men themselves were wrapped in dim twilight, and everything was calm. “One of the strictest philosophies in Vulcan culture is _do not kill. _While I do not agree that what you did was necessary, I should not have engaged in physical violence over it.”

Jim nodded as Spock spoke, before running one hand sheepishly across his neck. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too. I just – I don’t know, you got up in my face and … I guess I saw red. I get where you’re coming from, Spock. Fuck, it’s actually pretty noble.”

“Not noble. Only morally correct.”

“We’ll differ there, I think. Maybe I’m just a worse person than you. I’ve just been in enough situations to know that doesn’t always work.” Jim’s finger stilled in the package of grain and a shudder worked his way through him. “Like, generally, I think everyone agrees with what you said. Don’t kill. We haven’t hunted animals for hundreds of years. But … sometimes, people just say ‘fuck that’, and then the entire thing breaks down. And situations like that stick with you. Maybe they shouldn’t, but they do. Actually, I changed my mind – you’re _definitely _the better person.”

“You are speaking of the breakdown of society. When have you been in that situation?” Spock asked, curious.

Jim’s chuckle was nervous. “Pass. Why don’t you tell me about your tattoo?”

With the way Spock was resting his arm on his knee, he realized that the small, serpentine _kahs-wan _mark was clearly visible in the dim light. He flexed his bicep and watched the skin move accordingly, stretching across the skin.

Part of him considered not telling Jim. There was Vulcan stigma against describing rituals to non-Vulcans, after all, and Spock wanted to be a very good Vulcan. But there was also correcting misinformation, and Jim was clearly misinformed by the very word ‘_tattoo’. _

Besides, Jim had saved his life twice. If anything, saving the life of a very un-Vulcan Vulcan proved that he was a friend of the Vulcan people. The enemy of his enemy was his friend, wherein Spock’s enemy had always been himself. A strange loophole to the idiom.

Spock pushed the food away and rested on his back. Dusk started to dissipate, night starting to make its presence known. While the sky still had that orange-pink tinge, Spock started to see the stars come out. The moons rose higher in the sky, a beautiful image. He felt … comfortable.

It was strange, these moments of peace here. Even with the physical altercations, Spock had been able to find strange moments of tranquility. He had it, now, with Jim breathing softly next to him. There, Spock wasn’t worrying about acting too human or too Vulcan or Jim’s opinion of him. In a few days, perhaps less, Jim would no longer be his problem, nor would he ever see the man again. In that way, speaking to Jim was almost anonymous – therapeutic in nature.

“Not a tattoo,” Spock explained, raising his arm so that Jim could see it. “It is a brand, to signify the successful completion of the _kahs-wan _ceremony.” He paused, before clarifying. “When a Vulcan feels they are ready to prove their dedication to cultural philosophy, they undergo it.”

“Huh.” Jim settled onto his back, too, staring at the stars. Together, they laid side-by-side. “Sounds kind of cult-ish. What do you do during the _kahs-wan?” _

“The individual is transported to the Vulcan Forge. An area of the planet characterized by elevated temperatures, little water, and propensity for sandstorms. Most of the wildlife that lives in the area is venomous.” Spock remembered the desert as clearly as if he’d been there yesterday, even if he hadn’t touched it in years. He remembered wandering it as a young child with I-Chaya, marveling at how the sand stretched in all directions. Instead of feeling overwhelmed, it had inspired him. If he did that – if he managed to go through the _kahs-wan, _half-human as he was – he would be a _true _Vulcan. Genetics be damned.

Little did he know that this branding meant little, but he had been so full of hope back then. Spock cleared his throat. “They must survive there for a week. No water, no food, no help from others. The Vulcan must decide that, even if circumstances are dire, they will obey their principles.”

“Like no killing.”

“As an example, yes.” Spock remembered the trial bitterly. The first few days had been acceptable – or, rather, what he had expected. Then, on the fourth day, a sandstorm had destroyed the primitive structure he had built. He had been thirsty, he had been hungry, he had been exhausted, and somehow … being Vulcan didn’t seem very important any longer.

“So how did you do?” Jim asked, speaking directly to the stars. Spock was comfortable like this – Jim’s figure just a few inches from his own, enough space not to feel crowded without being entirely alone. “I mean, you passed, obviously.”

Spock was silent at that. He did not know how to say.

“Alright. Let me change the question. How do you know if you pass?”

“You survive.”

Silence passed between them for a few seconds. Waves gently lapped at the corners of the raft, touching it without providing a danger of falling over. “Only one or two Vulcans die every generation when conducting the trial. Water can be found, as well as vegetation for food. The ones who perish suffered extremely unfavorable, unpredictable circumstances. Usually they encounter a wild animal.”

“Cool, cool. Not to sound like a bigot or anything, but Vulcans having a ritual where their teenagers can get torn apart by wild animals sounds shitty.” There was fire in Jim’s voice, true anger against a barely-restrained surface. Spock was reminded of the water, pulling and grabbing, underneath the calm surface. “You’re supposed to teach your kids. Protect ‘em. Not send them out to the Vulcan poison-wolves.”

For the first time in his life, Spock considered the _kahs-wan _from an outsider’s point of view. Vulcans were well-acquainted with wildlife at that stage in their careers and finding food and water would not be exceedingly difficult. Still, he could see how pre-Surak influences had found their way into the _kahs-wan, _and he could even admit that, to a non-Vulcan, it would seem … cruel. Spock imagined putting his own children through the ordeal and intrinsically reacted against the idea.

In the end, Spock passed no verbal judgement. Instead, he only offered a quick correction. “I was not a teenager when it occurred. Although Vulcans usually undergo it in that age range, I requested to have it earlier. Age ten.”

Jim let out a noise of disgust. “Wow. And you’re half-human, to boot. I imagine that’s … that was probably harder for you, then? Just biologically.”

“No. Emotionally, perhaps.” Spock found himself expressing something deeply personal to Jim, something he had not expressed to anyone – even his mother. His mother would not understand because she was human; his father would not understand because he was Vulcan. He had no expectations that Jim would understand, but that mattered little. “I should have failed the _kahs-wan. _Although I survived, I violated Vulcan principles, and should never have been allowed the brand.”

Jim propped his head up on his elbow, and suddenly, Spock was being watched. He nonetheless stared up at the sky. “How do you figure?”

“More than halfway through the ceremony, I became frustrated with the vegetation. I had found so little water. I could construct a trap using my shirt and branches. I did, killing a nearby lizard.” Spock continued, aggrieved. “I took a life, and it was unnecessary. When I finished, I kept the lizard’s horn in tribute – as a reminder, that I would not kill again.”

Spock realized how absurd it must sound to a human. They did not govern themselves by such strict principles, instead acting on emotional impulse. And yet, they had not driven themselves into the ground.

Jim would think him foolish. Soft. In the grand scheme of the universe, the life of one small reptile meant so little – but at the time, to Spock, the notion that he hadn’t been _Vulcan enough _was devastating. He didn’t want to hear Jim mock him because he could not understand.

“_Shit_!” Jim grunted, hitting his forehead. “That’s why you freaked out about the hunting thing.” Jim sucked in his breath through his teeth. “_Gah. _I’m an idiot. Sorry, won’t do it again.”

Oh. Jim was not mocking him. Instead, he was being … sympathic? Spock turned his head. He could see Jim, his head propped up, face reflected against the rapidly darkening sky. Stars appeared around Jim’s head, shining, bright pinpoints of light.

There was that sensation again, and he wasn’t even touching Jim. How his heart quivered in his side and everything seemed to quiet around him – how he let himself think, if only for a second, _yes, I do think that Jim is the most desirable person in the galaxy, _before he squashed it down. Developing a crush on this man was a terrible idea, and Spock chalked it up to exhaustion, isolation, and anxiety for the future.

He did not like Jim. He was going to continue to stare at him, to make absolutely, positively certain that he did not like him.

Jim grinned at him when Spock didn’t answer, going to lean on his back again. He reached up and scratched the stubble that had sprouted on his face since they’d been there. _You are going to bond with T’Pring, you are going to bond with T’Pring, _Spock repeated over and over in his mind as he resisted the urge to lean over and feel the stubble for himself.

How had this even come about? It wasn’t like he and Jim had much in common. They fought, frequently, they had physically wrestled on the sand just a few hours ago. And yet Jim had expressed _decency _and had looked, perhaps, a little _handsome _and now Spock felt more for him than he ever had for his betrothed? _Or, _for that matter, T’Pris aboard the _Enterprise? _

There had been a time when Spock had considered bonding with T’Pris, that was true. It would be seen as scandalous for the Vulcan elders, but it would allow him to continue his duties and for T’Pris to continue hers unhindered. At the time, Spock had considered bonding with T’Pris the _emotional _option – that is, if he was feeling rebellious and doing what he wanted, he would bond with her so that he could be happy.

And now, bonding with either T’Pris or T’Pring seemed … pale, in comparison, for the man laying down next to him.

_Can’t you ever just do what you’re told? _Spock asked himself desperately, laying back down on the raft. Seconds passed in shared silence, before Jim shifted beside him.

“I was on Tarsus IV. You know, when it went down. Not like for a vacation or anything.”

That was enough to snap Spock out of it. His eyes widened, but he did not look over at Jim again. He wasn’t certain what he would see. “You were?”

“Yeah.” Jim’s voice was softer, beside him. “I was, uh, fourteen. Visiting some relatives – well, I was sent to live with some relatives because I was getting into trouble on Earth. It all went down; I wasn’t … I mean, I had allergies, some health stuff in my family history, so I was on the naughty list.”

Ah. Spock could infer his meaning. Jim was one of the nine survivors who had been sentenced to die, but had yet lived. He did not know how to respond to it. To express sympathy? Grief?

“It was a lot of living on the run, sorta, for a while. The fungus that destroyed the food supply kept us on our toes, so we had to pilfer where we could. We didn’t have time to be picky about what we ate. Plus, Kodos’ guards – they were always looking for us. A couple of dozen at first, then it was … you know, less.” The moons were just overhead them, now, and all the stars were out. Somewhere up there was the Enterprise. Not in orbit, certainly, but _somewhere _out in space. “My point is … I’m weird about food.”

Spock tilted his head to the side, curious. His mind was starting to make the connection.

“Like, I’ll-eat-random-food-on-an-alien-planet weird or I’ll-fight-a-guy-for-breaking-my-spear weird. Sorry.”

“You did not have much choice, on Tarsus IV,” Spock realized, speaking out into empty darkness. “For most of your time there, your choices would have been either to ate whatever you came across or starve.”

“Yeah. We couldn’t get stuff together to make scanners, or whatever. Very low tech. There were ways to be smart about it. Try only a little bit and wait, boil it if it’s a liquid, stuff like that, but … yeah. I guess some old habits are hard to kick. I’ve been thinking about it. I think it’s why I wanted to come down here in the first place. Like, obviously we weren’t going to uncover Tarsus IV-levels of tragedy, but I think about how many starships flew right past Tarsus IV when it was going on.” Jim blew out a breath of air, shaking his head. “Stupid, I know. Call me illogical over it.”

“To think, you would have survived Tarsus IV only to perish here.”

Jim snorted at that, which Spock was grateful for. He was uncertain how the joke would be taken. “I apologize for my words and actions against you, Jim. I hope that we can still be …” Spock trailed off, uncertain of his wording. ‘Still be friends’ implied that they were, at some point, friends. Perhaps that was an overstatement. He did not want to push unnecessarily. Humans were much more familiar with the concept of ‘friends’, after all, than Vulcans.

“Friends? Yeah, of course. After what we’ve been through … I mean, we’re probably never gonna see each other again, but it’ll be an interesting story.” Jim crossed his arms. Spock supposed he could not blame Jim from wanting to get off the topic of Tarsus IV. While the _kahs-wan _ceremony had been difficult, it was luxury compared to what Jim had experienced there. “Okay. Let’s cut the depressing talk. What are you gonna do when you get back to Vulcan? Like, big picture stuff. Go.”

Spock considered it, allowing the waves to soothe him into easy comfort. His eyes slowly slid shut as he considered it. “Bonding ceremony,” he explained freely. “It is not precisely the same, but can be equated to human marriage.”

Beside him, Spock heard Jim break up into laughter. _I made Jim laugh, _Spock’s sluggish mind supplied him with pride, a warm flush running over his body. That felt _good, _to make Jim laugh. “I have to say, man, I wasn’t expecting that. You have someone in mind, or … because I think it’s a jackass move to ask T’Pris to leave the ship and follow you home.”

“No. No, T’Pris was only a passing …” _Illogicism. They happen frequently. _“We were never together. I have been betrothed to a Vulcan woman since I was eight years of age. It was always expected that I return to bond with her, but my duties to Starfleet prevented me from doing so.” Spock explained. He had never spoken as much out loud before, though he supposed nobody had asked him. Somehow, even if precisely no details of the situation had changed, Spock felt somewhat more at peace. “For a moment, I considered breaking my betrothal to T’Pring and bonding with T’Pris. She agreed to such an arrangement, as she is widowed. It would be more professionally advantageous, as I could remain on the vessel permanently. However, I would be breaking the promise I had made to T’Pring. In that sense, it is advantageous I will be discharged from Starfleet, as it simplifies matters considerably. I am now free from professional obligation to return home and bond to T’Pring.”

He hadn’t taken a breath. Oh. Spock inhaled slowly to refill his lungs, tasting the cool, salty air.

Jim was silent. Spock was suddenly deeply self-conscious. They were only _barely _friends, and he had just told him one of the most intimately personal problems he had going on in his life. _After _Jim had just admitted to an unthinkable trauma. No, Spock had acted entirely selfishly in expressing this to him, and this was precisely why being around Vulcans was so much _easier. _Simpler.

“I’m sorry, I’m just – I’m really trying not to laugh again,” Jim confessed. Spock cracked one eye open to see Jim red-faced, one arm covering his mouth as he tried to stifle himself. “I know that’s not meant to be funny.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t offended, only curious.

“You just _unloaded _all of that on me. Like it’s a minor inconvenience. Like you’ve got it all figured out and it’s just an afterthought, when it’s this big … it’s a big thing! Does this thing happen a _lot _on Vulcan? It’s like the galaxy’s most loveless dating show.”

“I have had a long time to think of a solution,” Spock defended himself. “And it is … not precisely a normal problem, even for Vulcans.” He did not know what a dating show was, but he could deduce the concept somewhat. “It should not have been an issue. I should have suspended my Starfleet duties and return to Vulcan. Others can fill my role on the _Enterprise. _It is more difficult to have someone else fill my role as T’Pring’s bondmate.” _Though it could be done, I’m sure. They got rid of me so easily. _

“Well, yeah, but you love T’Pris. Maybe I’m just a big messy emotional human, but the choice seems obvious to me.”

Spock’s response was immediate. “Love is not an emotion that Vulcans express. It has not factored into this decision.”

“Bullshit. Okay, I don’t know a lot about Vulcan stuff, but you’re half-human. If love didn’t factor into this, then there wouldn’t have been a choice at all.”

As Jim spoke of matters like love, Spock felt like he was slowly sinking further into the raft until he was about an inch tall. He did not enjoy speaking of this, and was starting to regret bringing it up to Jim if he was going to speak of feelings.

“So you don’t love T’Pris, is what I’m hearing, and you _definitely _don’t love T’Pring.”

“T’Pris is …” Spock had admitted it so freely to Jim, why could he not admit it now? “T’Pris is my friend. She has enjoyable company and has agreed to have me. She understands my situation.”

“But you’re not, you know. You’re not into her.”

“Vulcans do not – “ He was starting to grow exasperated with Jim. “Vulcans do not be ‘into’ people.”

“Again, Spock, first of all, we covered that I don’t know jack shit about Vulcans, but I know half-Vulcans, _and _I’ve seen you spot an awful lot of emotion.” Spock heard Jim shift onto his side, staring at him. Spock returned his gaze readily. “Are you, or are you not, into her?”

“No.”

“And you’re not into T’Pring?”

Spock was a little more vehement. “_No.” _

“Then don’t bond with any of ‘em. Boom.” Jim flashed Spock a wide smile, folding his arms behind his head. “Just be on your own. Don’t even have to go back to Vulcan. Just travel. You’re a genius, someone’ll want to pick you up for work. But you don’t have to do what people tell you to do, especially if you don’t want to.” He moved onto his back to stare at the stars again. Spock watched him, somewhat in awe. “Maybe it’s just human culture talking, but we kind of encourage being into someone before engaging in lifelong matrimony. As a minimum. Have you ever been into anyone?”

Spock was staring at Jim, now. The way his arms, impressively muscular, folded behind his head. The way he smiled, even if his eyes were shut and he was staring up at the scars. The way Spock had entirely forgotten that there were on a small, flimsy raft in the middle of a fantastic ocean because he was so entranced by Jim’s company.

The way Jim made him feel like his human sides and his Vulcan sides weren’t in stark opposition to one another. 

_Yes, _Spock thought in tune with his heart. 

Rather than answer, Spock simply snorted. “I presume you have been ‘into’ people before?”

“Oh, don’t take that tone with me, jerk. Of course I have. Dozens of times, maybe? I don’t know. I get interested in people all the time.”

“You would not make a very good Vulcan.”

“You’re gonna make me cry. Here I was, about to mold my ears,” Jim pouted sarcastically, reaching up to tug one of them painfully. “Do you really get betrothed when you’re a kid? Why?”

“I can’t explain some of the rituals of Vulcan culture, but know that it is a strategic decision.” Spock’s tone was apologetic. He wanted to, he found himself saying. He wanted to tell Jim about _pon farr _and the telepathic bond and mind melding and _everything _that was part of him.

“Huh. I guess for the most part, it works out?”

“Generally so, yes. I am …” There was a polite way to put this, but when it finally came out of his mouth, Spock was surprised at how self-pitying it was. “I have always fit in oddly.”

“I can tell.” There was a beat of silence. “No offense. It’s not a bad thing. I kind of like it about you.”

It was expressly juvenile the way Spock’s entire body lit up when Jim admitted he _liked _something about him, but so it happened. He shut his eyes and settled back on the raft comfortably. They continued drifting for some time in comfortable silence.

He knew it would end. No matter his conversation with Jim, they could not linger in this small bubble forever. He would still bond with T’Pring, no matter Jim’s encouragement otherwise, and he would still bear children with her, but now … it was not difficult to keep friendships on other planets. He could remain in contact with T’Pris, and perhaps even with Jim.

The thought of maintaining his friends granted him some peace.

They were pushed along via a gentle current towards the large island. After a certain point, Spock received the impression that Jim was starting to doze beside him. He called his name softly and received no response.

Good, he would need his rest. Spock rolled over to his side and let his gaze linger on Jim’s face. _It isn’t weird to watch him sleep if there is very little to look at, _Spock thought as the stars shone above him. Jim’s face was gentle as he slept, chest rising slowly underneath his muddied and bloodied uniform.

Starfleet needed more people like Jim Kirk. His intentions were pure, and perhaps this was all entirely misguided, but Jim was a good person. He was only young and reckless. The former was inevitable. The second could be forgiven. 

Spock settled himself into a meditative state. He would be easily woken in the event of a disturbance, and they were moving steadily enough on the current that drifting off course was unlikely. It would take some grand act of mis-navigation to miss their goal, and Spock was comfortable with resting for a time.

The meditative trance slipped by easily. It had the additional effect of coaxing the restless emotions out of his body. Having a crush (Spock recoiled at the word) may have felt pleasant, but it would only affect his logical decision skills later. And he would need them, if he had to build a communicator that could contact the _Enterprise. _


	13. Signs of Life

When he woke, dawn was starting to spill across the horizon. The moons had dipped below the surface of the planet. While it wasn’t the unyielding, harsh sun that had been present before, it was pleasant. The sky was streaked pink and orange.

In front of him, Jim was siting on the edge of the raft. He had rolled up the cuffs of his pants to dip his legs into the ocean. Before him stretched the island.

“I’m gonna call it Big Mama,” Jim joked when he heard Spock shift behind him. “We can officially name it, don’t we? If you come over here, be careful you don’t tip the raft.” Spock got on his hands and knees to sit next to Jim, though he did not dip his legs into the water. Instead, he crossed them and sat close next to Jim. The morning wind gave him a little chill, and he subconsciously shifted so that his knee brushed Jim.

Compared to the island that they crashed on originally, it was a titan. Spock could see the expected shoreline, a dense forest that sprang up a few dozen feet inward, and then, above it all towered a volcano, composed of dense black rock and ash. He could see the treeline grow gradually more ash and soot-covered as they grew towards the incline of the volcano. A portion of the island, towards the west, saw the forest completely flattened and covered in thick, dusty ash, stretching down onto the shore and towards the ocean. The water was significantly less clear here. Spock could only see a foot or two into it.

The air took on a different smell, thick and irritating. It would not bother him, for now, but he was pleased they had not crash-landed here.

While it was beautiful, it was also a stark reminder that they had objectives to complete. There was no more leisurely lounging on a raft as they aimlessly floated on by. Instead, they had to face the consequences for their actions and bring the _Enterprise _off her course to rescue them.

Spock looked towards Jim. Between the meditation and the strength of his friend, Spock was ready.

“We are not calling the island ‘Big Mama’,” Spock corrected him patiently. “We are not the first visitors to this island. The native species already has a term for it, presumably, and it would not be appropriate for us to rename it.”

He was aware of Jim making a face next to him, but he did not comment on it. “Right, these suspiciously absent native species. You see any structures on the island?”

“No.” That was … concerning. “But the scanner indicated a structure of some sort here. Likely, it is farther inland, or on the far side of the island together. We will have to explore it.”

“Yeah. Looking forward to it. Starting to go stir-crazy on this thing. We should keep the raft when we touch land, just in case. Gonna have to find some way to anchor it – dunno how far high tide will reach,” Jim muttered, mostly to himself. He ran a hand across the prickly shadow that had started to grow across his face. Spock knew he likely wasn’t much better.

Overheard, a bird flew and trilled out a morning tune as the sun stretched a little higher. Even with the volcano dark and imposing across the skyline, Spock reveled in the peace of it as he sat next to Jim. It reminded him cherry blossom trees, the kind that he had seen growing on Earth, with the almost-black rock of the volcano framed against the delicate pink of the sunrise.

“It’s beautiful,” Jim agreed next to him, voice soft.

Yet, for Spock, it carried a sense of foreboding. He felt, despite all odds, _happy. _Was this the last time in his life he would feel such a way? Would his life after this be filled with obligation and duty and a bond to a woman he did not care for? Not a _happily ever after, _such as in the stories his mother used to tell him, or even a _happily for now, _but simply a _happily this is it. _

If this was it, Spock was going to savor it. He raised his hand and placed it on Jim’s. Jim flipped his hand over to hold onto Spock’s, fingers interlocking with his own. Jim did not understand the depth of the gesture for Vulcans, perhaps, but he did not pull away from him.

Warmth bloomed inside of Spock at the sensitive touch, taking refuge in it. He liked Jim, and in that moment, very little else mattered. Decades from now, when he was middle-aged and had six children and did something unbearably dull on Vulcan for a living, he would think back to this, and maybe that would be enough, to know that he experienced this simple feeling just once.

With Spock realizing his own happiness, he realized that he could not attribute entirely with himself – the telepathic connection was strong. Jim was happy, too. It was strange, to experience human happiness this way – he had felt it from his mother at times, but this was different. This was uniquely _Jim. _Carefree and blissful happiness, covering a deeper, more intricate mix of concern and worry. _Protectiveness. _Jim wanted to keep Spock safe.

And, as Jim’s thumb stroked along Spock’s knuckle, he realized that he felt very safe. He could look across the ocean, to the volcanic island, to the utter unknown that stretched before them – and Spock was not scared.

They continued drifting along in silence, each consumed by their own thoughts. Spock did not know if Jim was _into _him. Naming the emotions he felt across their touch required more telepathic training than he had. Spock rarely touched people and was not trained in identifying emotions very well.

They were getting closer to the island. Spock could see that the off-white beaches were studded with black specks everywhere. He hoped that the air wasn’t too troubling for his friend, but Jim portrayed no sign of difficulty. The water began to get choppier as they neared the shore, and Spock retreated his hand as they tried to secure themselves.

“You stay here. I think you’ve had enough bath-time,” Jim joked, sliding off the raft into the water. He started to swim towards the island with the raft, but Spock knew that, with the weight of the raft and Spock himself, he was having difficulty. Still, he persisted up until Spock quirked his lips up in amusement.

Quietly, he pushed himself off the raft into the water, splashing down.

When he bobbed to the surface, Jim’s gaze was concerned. “I am aware of how to swim, Jim. I took the same Academy courses in the subject, same as you.” Spock reached for the rope on the raft, winding it securely around his hands. The other half was attached securely to the foundation of the vessel. “I only _prefer _not to.”

“Really? I heard a rumor once that Vulcans melted if they touched water. You know.” At that, Jim let out the most ear-piercing shriek that Spock had ever heard. “_I’m meeeeelting!” _

Humans were illogical, irrational creatures.

“I’m just saying, you have the same color. Sort of.”

“Jim, you must cease in making references that I do not understand. You recall that we grew up on entirely different planets.”

“Yeah, well, no humans get that reference either. It’s an old, old film. I like it, though.” Together, they started to pull the raft towards the shore. With both bodies off it, it was no difficult task. Spock was cold by the end of it, and was grateful that the sun had entirely risen by the time they were pulling the raft onto the shore. He could feel his torso drying already. “How’s your head?”

The bandages were wet against his skull. Spock removed them entirely and placed them on the raft, reaching for the quickly-drying ones tied to his arm. He removed the second-to-last one, making a move to tie it around his head. Jim stopped him.

“I got it.” Jim started to wind it around his head carefully. There was a hesitation in his movements that left Spock curious. “Uh. Yeah, it’s … _ew. _I don’t know if you can smell that, but it’s infected. We really do need to get you into a clinic or something soon, Spock.”

Spock was grateful that he didn’t have to look at it. It felt like ages ago when he received it, and the uncomfortably painful twinges he’d been receiving, even when not directly touching the wound … were alarming. He shut his eyes, grateful for the momentary rest before he realized Jim was taking an _awfully _long time to secure the bandages.

“Let me tie it in a little – “

“Do not make a bow.”

“Mm, sorry? Selectively deaf.” Jim finished tying the bandage, and Spock had to admit he’d done a better job than if Spock had tried to tie it himself. He stood and regained his balance. “It’s a cute bow, Spock.”

The glare he sent Jim had no teeth to it. Jim looked further into the island, and then around the coast. “Alright. What’s your scanner say about the location of the facility?”

Spock brought it out of his bag. “It is not far from here. Perhaps a half mile inland – “ Looking up at the volcano, Spock squinted. “Ah. It is not unlikely that they partially constructed the facility in the volcanic rock, perhaps to run off thermal energy. That would be a logical use of natural resources.”

Jim was already walking into the treeline, and Spock jogged to catch up with him. “What are we going to say,” Jim asked as Spock passed over the scanner. “To the Enterprise? When we contact them? I know there’s official regulation about how to contact them, but I feel like there should be a little more groveling involved. Do you think they found the missing shuttle yet?”

Even if they’d been surviving on their own for a few days, Spock could not help but be anxious about Pike’s disapproval. “If they discovered our absence this soon, then they would have returned immediately. My theory is that they have not noticed and set on their navigational course. We were meant to be on personal leave, after all, it isn’t as if our superiors would report us for dereliction of duty. There are several hundred aboard the Enterprise.” As for what to say … “A simple mayday alert will suffice, as well as broadcasting our location.”

“Bad enough for a mayday, huh.” Jim sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Guess we’ll just have to get it over with. Is it shitty of me to say that part of me is going to miss this? At least the views are better here.”

Even if it was irrational, Spock could not help but agree. The views were much better here, and Pike had had so much faith in him. Facing the consequences of disappointing him were concerning.

When they walked, they began to see more signs of civilization. The path began to become more beaten by the same, strange circular imprints that they had seen before. They pondered over a sign written in an unintelligible language for a few minutes, trying to determine if a certain symbol was an arrow or simply a letter, before following along the scanner again.

Still, no signs of life, even as they came upon another abandoned campsite. They were the same large hammocks that had been in the other encampment, with a dead fire nearby.

“How far away is the facility?” Jim asked, taking a peek inside the tent. “Won’t hurt us to look around a little.”

“A quarter of a mile. I am surprised we passed no signage about it already.”

“Well, we might’ve. Who knew what that sign said? Here, go look through that bag, I’ll see if there’s anything we can find in the tent.” Spock agreed, getting down on his knees to gently start rifling through the supplies. They had disrupted this ecosystem to the point that he felt little guilt about it. Besides, it appeared to be further blankets and a few empty containers, nothing of much use.

He heard Jim curse loudly from inside the tent. Spock was in there in a second, flashes of Jim going through anaphylactic shock crossing his mind again.

“There’s – it’s dead,” Jim frantically stuttered by way of explanation as Spock entered. He was standing on the opposite edge of the tent, holding one flap back to look through the other side.

There was a creature lying there, motionless.

Spock reacted immediately. He took Jim by the back of the shirt and yanked him back a few steps, causing him to tumble backwards. Jim looked at Spock with surprise, his eyes wide.

“Let me investigate,” Spock requested quietly. “You do not know if it is dead.”

He stepped forward to investigate. The creature was an arthropod. Taller than Jim by a full foot and as large as a grizzly bear, it was certainly an intimidating figure. It was lying on what Spock could only presume was its front – its back, facing up, was a shiny black carapace, broken up into equal-size horizontal segments. It had two feet that ended in circular black stubs. There were four arms, thin and spindly, that stretched above the creature’s head and slightly dug into the ground.

“It’s like a gigantic black ladybug,” Jim muttered in amazement from over Spock’s shoulder. Nodding, Spock stepped closer to the creature and put a hand on its shell to flip it over. It seemed dead, but they were, even post-mortem, experiencing First Contact.

He grunted and moved the life form to its back with some effort. As soon as he did, he heard Jim’s voice catch in his throat beside him.

The creature’s abdomen was made of a similar shiny black carapace, though it was one solid unit instead of small segments. It ended at the creature’s collar, and the skin was soft and olive there. A clear weakpoint, though Spock could not see any discernable injury there.

The face was not dissimilar to an Earth ant’s. The mouth was partially obscured by two large, sharp-looking pincers, and their large eyes were black and deep, staring up at nothing. In that moment, that was not what caught Spock’s attention.

Part of the life form’s head had been split open, spilling black blood down their face and onto the chest. Spock’s fingers probed around the wound, blood staining his fingers, until he realized the hole was almost perfectly circular in nature. It pierced through the head entirely.

“Shot by a projectile,” Spock concluded, wiping his fingers on his pants. He looked toward Jim grimly.

They had found the native species, and whoever it was – they were not pacifists.

“Well, _fuck _me,” Jim grunted, running his hands over his face. “What’re the chances that the facility is abandoned after all? I mean, they’re not going to let us just wander in.”

They had disturbed the environment already, but breaking into a populated research facility and stealing equipment seemed to go too far. That seemed _criminal. _“We will not know until we reach it.” He was anxious. “We may be able to establish some basic communication.” Or they could be attacked on sight. Spock leaned up and took the scanner out. They were not far now. He quelled the rising anxiety inside of him. This plan had to work – or at least, they had to try.

Even if he remembered some of his time on the island fondly, they had to _get out. _Spock’s head injury alone meant that they could not survive for long.

“Wait, are we just … leaving?” Jim asked as Spock stepped away. He looked back curiously. “Just gonna leave this guy here?”

“You … are not presuming we should take him with us?”

“No. But, I don’t know, he’s just … on the ground. It feels disrespectful.”

Spock didn’t understand Jim’s emotion, precisely, but he was clearly agitated about the idea of leaving the body. He was standing over the figure protectively. At first, the urge to insist overwhelmed Spock – they were in _danger, _clearly there was a violent species on this planet, time was suddenly very much of the essence.

But he could understand where Jim was coming from. He was kind, and there was an unspoken, intergalactic respect for the dead. Spock placed the scanner in his bag and approached Jim. “I will grab their torso if you support their bottom half,” Spock advised, and together, they lifted the life form. Lighter than expected, given the size of it. They shuffled back into the tent and Spock lowered the life form’s head down onto the large hammock, before Jim did the same with their feet.

Jim readjusted their limbs carefully. “Better than the ground, huh,” he murmured, and Spock realized he seemed to be talking to the corpse.

“Would you like to … “ Spock did not know what to say. He had attended funerals, before, on Vulcan. The Vulcan funeral dirges were quite prolific, but he had no way of making music, here. Nor did that seem appropriate, given the species. “Would you like to speak something?”

“No.” Jim’s voice was flat. “Nah. I don’t know anything about them, so anything I’d say – well, it’d just be fake. Just didn’t want to leave them on the ground like that. You want to say something?”

Spock paused uncertainly. He, too, felt the same hesitation as Jim. He nevertheless approached the body and placed a hand on their shoulder. Two wispy antennae sprouted from their head, now limp. There was no life here.

“Rom-halan, tvi’okh,” Spock murmured solemnly.

_Goodbye, neighbor. _

Together, they left the tent. There was something grave written on Jim’s face, now, and Spock felt it. An unexpected source of danger. Nevertheless, they continued down the beaten trail. Spock now released the circular repetitive patterns in the trail were the species’ own feet. An arthropod society.

“We were right, you know,” Jim shot at him with a sort of grim humor. “To Commander Piger. To come down here. There is civilized life down here after all. So, fuck ‘em. We were right.”

They were indeed. Even at such a great cost, they had corrected an error. Spock could take some solace in that. “They will have to place a research vessel orbiting the planet, investigating the species to see if they could be potential allies of the Federation.” Such a process could take years, but this species could have been ignored forever if they had not come down onto the planet.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe. Hang on, Spock, do you –”

Spock also heard something. They paused on the trail. There was the sound of … _clicking. _People nearby. Many people, from the sound of it. Spock shared a look with Jim and they both dove into the nearby bush, obscuring themselves from sight of the trail.

Together, they crouched down and peered outside. Spock quieted his breathing and felt Jim do the same. They had to be as _silent _as possible.

A group of the arthropods were dragging their feet down the trail. Spock counted a dozen. Some were the shiny black shells of the dead one they had encountered earlier, and some still were a dark green, a dark red. Only a few were as large. Some were Spock’s height, and he saw some that were no more than a few feet off the ground. Spock realized with a jolt that those could be the juveniles of the species.

Their attennae were twitching here and there, and they clicked frequently at one another. _Language. _

Spock saw that their arms were bound in front of them, affecting their balance somewhat. His eyebrows furrowed – _for what purpose would that serve? They can barely walk _– before he saw another person behind them who was decidedly not a member of their species.

The new figures were tall and reptilian, their skin covered by green, mottled scales. Where it was not, Spock only saw soft, yellowish skin, the same texture and color as the sand on the beach they had just left. While the insectoids did not appear to wear clothing, this group did: it was the clothing of mercenaries, well-protected in a sort of armor with plenty of space to store weapons. They held a weapon. A phaser rifle, not Federation-issued, with many apparent modifications on its surface.

Glancing up, Spock saw that their head was not dissimilar from a lizard’s – a long snout with a forked, flickering tongue that darted between their lips. The most striking part of them was that they did not have two eyes, but only a large one directly in the middle of their forehead. Their irises were red, covering a large dark pupil, but the sclera surrounding was instead a sickly yellow.

Staring at this person’s eye, Spock realized he _knew _this person’s species. It was not a Federation species, but instead a species that the Federation had run into, again and again.

Briori. One of the last remaining species in the galaxy that participated in slavery.

They had just wandered into a slaver invasion on a planet. Spock looked towards Jim, eyes wide. Jim didn’t have the same realization that he did, but he nevertheless tensed when he saw them hold the phaser rifle. They were exceptional in their deadliness. Not Federation issue.

Spock tried to silently convey his alarm to Jim, but Jim was looking straight forward. He raised his hand with an intent to grab Jim’s shoulder – _they had to get out of there, now, they needed to formulate a plan elsewhere – _but someone else beat him to it. In horror, Spock saw a large, reptilian, three-fingered hand reach down and grasp Jim’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add a little tidbit about this chapter - while the arthropods are just something I made up, the Briori are actually a species within Star Trek canon that participates in slavery (though, IIRC, they haven't actually received a canon appearance). I fashioned them after an obscure episode in Star Trek: The Animated Series wherein they find a photo of a gigantic one-eyed lizard man/the last slaver species in the galaxy (who I don't believe, IIRC, are given a name).


	14. Meanwhile ...

“Thanks for working with us on this, Admiral,” Pike spoke into the viewscreen. The Enterprise was currently undocking from the nearby starbase. “It’s set us back a few days, but that ship wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Are they settling in well?”

The flag admiral nodded patiently. “Repairs have started to begin on their ship. We expect they will be able to set out in a week’s time. For now, they have all been placed on personal leave. You performed admirably, rescuing them from their ship and bringing it into the starbase.”

Pike gave a small grin. _Aw, shucks. _“Only doing what needed to be done, Admiral. You’ll keep me updated? We’re gonna start pre-flight checks over here and head on out.”

“Of course, Captain. Thank you.”

The viewscreen muted and Pike reached for his communicator. “Alright, crew, we’ve done our civic duty for the week. Sound off about your personnel status.”

He leaned back in his chair and waited. One by one, the departments began to sound off. He didn’t expect any problems. The crew was a little disgruntled about not getting to actually beam onto the starbase and take a few hours off, but that was only temporary.

He checked the departments off on his terminal, before they were only two left. Huh.

“Phaser control crew?” Pike asked into his communicator. “How are we doing, boys?”

“We, er.” The lieutenant responded uncertainly. “We’re missing one, sir. Lieutenant Kirk. He’s, uh, he’s not in his quarters and not answering his communicator. We’re trying to find him now.”

Another department piped in. “Lieutenant Commander Treffoli here, sir. We’re also missing Lieutenant Spock. Not on his quarters, not answering his communicator.”

Huh. Pike released his communicator for a second. He didn’t think either of those two boys would shirk duty like that. They were both hard-working poster boys of Starfleet. And they’d just gotten personal leave. Maybe they’d misunderstood what he said. Maybe he’d misspoken. Either way, he couldn’t _wait _for a chance to rib Spock especially about dropping the ball.

“Computer, could you give me a gander and see where Lieuenants Kirk and Spock are located?”

Maybe they were spending time together. That’d be good for the both of them. They had a lot more in common than either of them figured, and Pike hoped that they’d get on well. They were going to go far in Starfleet.

“Lieutenants Kirk and Spock are not located aboard the Enterprise.”

Pike’s voice was hesitant. “Okay,” he muttered. Maybe the boys had … somehow deactivated their comm-badges somewhere. The thought passed through his mind that maybe they’d snuck off somewhere together. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten reports of Jim Kirk breaking hearts on the Enterprise. Spock, though? “Alright, Captain to all crewmembers. Look around for Lieutenants Kirk and Spock. Engineer Scott, you sure that nobody’s used the transporter recently? Take a look through the shuttle roster.”

He received a few affirmatives. A few more minutes passed with nothing, before the communicator crackled to life again. “Sir, it’s Scotty.’

“Hit me, Scotty.”

“It’s … not good.” Scotty’s voice was terribly grim. “We’re missing one shuttle in the shuttle bay.”

“They must’ve snuck down to screw around the starbase. Great.” Pike pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d have to put them on report for this, maybe put them on shift-and-a-half duty. Having a little fun was all well and good, but not when that fun made them stall their delay a little while longer. “I’ll get the Admiral back on and see if they can’t find our boys down there. Thanks for checking, Scott.”

Engineer Scott’s voice broke in. “No, sir, you won’t have much luck on the starbase. I’m reviewing the video logs, now, and, uh …” He trailed off, as if amazed at what he was seeing.

“And what, Scotty?”

“I think we’re gonna have to turn around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this update! I really do have to work on my other WIPs to publish when this one is over, lol. In this update, we discussed both Jim's Tarsus IV experience (which I think is more common discussion in fandom, because holy hell that TOS episode is wild) and Spock's kahs-wan experience (which I WISH was discussed more commonly in fandom even if it's only of dubious canonicity), gotten dangerously close to saying the title of the fic in the body of the fic, and also we've met our planet's residents for the first time, as well as some unsavory visitors.   
-  
Thank you all to those who have read/commented/left kudos'ed! It's been really good to get feedback on this story, as it's probably the most experimental thing I've written that takes into account a lot of dubiously canonical details about the boys' lives. See you next Sunday!


	15. Make Your Choice

Below him, the ground tasted of ash.

The taste was becoming rapidly, intimately familiar to Spock, with the thick boot resting on the back of his head. It pressed down painfully against the bandages that covered his head injury, causing spectacular starbursts of pain to stab into his skull. He groaned in pain and squeezed his eyes tight.

His arms were bound behind his back and he had long since stopped trying to kick the Briori away. Vulcan strength was formidable, but the Briori were large, reptilian bipedal creatures that held more strength than he did. Most of his concentration was focused on not passing out from the pain.

He instead went limp, trying to listen to what they were saying. It was not in Standard, but instead the Briorian language, and he knew precisely zero words of it. Being non-Federation and not very large in number regardless, Spock had not encountered their species before.

“Spock,” Jim grunted next to him. Spock cracked his eyes open. He could not see all of Jim’s face, also bound and pressed into the ground as he was, but he saw Jim’s eyes staring at him. The blue eyes were bright with concern. “Okay?”

At the question, the more pressure was applied from the boot. It hurt. A lot. Spock tried to snarl in pain, but instead succeeded in inhaling a very large amount of dirt. Instead of answering Jim, he started to cough harshly into the ground. _Not okay. _

They hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds when they’d been discovered, though Jim had a growing black eye for his struggles. Presumably they had recognized Spock’s species, because they had detained him first.

Above and around them, they heard the noises of the native species talking amongst themselves. Spock wondered what they were thinking, seeing these two very clearly non-Briori people on their island. He felt sympathy for them. How quickly had their lives been turned upside down like this? How long had the Briori been here?

The boot on his head released. “Stand up,” a Briori man growled. Spock took the sudden freedom to raise his head and cough harshly, spitting up black dirt onto the ground. “I said, _stand up!” _His shoulder was grasped and he was yanked upward, so rapidly that Spock’s knees immediately gave out from the vertigo. He was held only by his shoulder, agonized.

“Give him a _second!” _Jim snapped on the ground, twisting himself to look up at Spock. “He hit his head!”

For his efforts, the Briori woman rose her boot back and kicked Jim solidly in the gut, making him curl up in the fetal position with a low groan. “Jim, stay quiet,” Spock pleaded softly. If his hands were free, he could at least perform a Vulcan nerve pinch. But these Briori were strong, and especially injured as he was, Spock knew he couldn’t break away from them.

“You.” The woman picked Jim up from the back of his shirt, a few stitches ripping as she did so. Jim managed to find his footing a lot easier than Spock did. “You are human?”

They were fluent in Standard. Jim and Spock had found that out when one of them had pulled on Spock’s ears with three fingers and muttered ‘Vulcan’.

Jim fought against his bindings for a half-second, but stopped when he felt the rifle pressed against his back. “Yeah. What, got a fetish?” He growled at the Briori, and Spock wanted to _beg _Jim to stay quiet. The quip only got the butt of the rifle smacked into his stomach, making him double over from pain again. _They’re going to rupture something internally if you keep up. Please. _

The Briori man tightened his grip on Spock’s shoulder and began to lead him away. Not to join the native species, but further down the path towards the research facility. At the same time, they began to lead Jim towards the shore. _They’re separating us. No, no, no, no. Jim! _

“Keep the bugs here,” the Briori man told the others guarding the arthropods, voice eking out in a low, rough voice. A forked tongue flicked out between his lips and returned just as quickly. “We’ll come back for them later.”

Spock’s attention was still focused on the fact that he and Jim were being separated in opposite directions, and Spock could not tell which direction was worse. _Actually _– whatever direction Jim was not going was worse. Jim realized it at the same time that he did, straining against his bonds considerably. “Spock!” He shouted out, his captor half-dragging him away by the hem of his shirt. “Spock, I’ll – “

_Jim,_ _be quiet, _Spock begged inwardly. He did not want to see him get hurt again. He did not want Jim to _be _hurt again.

He looked towards his friend desperately, eye black and shirt hanging loosely around his figure. It was hard to transmit such a thought merely from a look. Spock thought that it wouldn’t make much of a difference, either way.

“I’ll find you!” Jim shouted again, still straining towards him. “I swear, I _promise _– I’m going to find you!”

The butt of the phaser rifle found its home against the side of Jim’s neck this time, causing him to gag and clutch at his throat. Either way, the captor put her arm around Jim and kept pulling him down the trail.

Spock did not know what to say. How could Jim promise that? Jim did not know where he was being taken. For all he knew, they were both about to be killed somewhere in the forest, and nothing could be done about it.

A morbid way to think. Spock made eye contact with his captor. The wide red eyes, fading into yellow at the corners, stared back at him. It was unnerving. His captor bore his teeth at him, and Spock saw that was clearly where evolution diverged from reptiles he was familiar with. His mouth was full of needle sharp teeth. Spock dimly wondered if the Briori were venomous in nature.

He let himself be led away. Away from Jim, away from the arthropods, deeper towards the facility.

Before, he had been alone on this journey at times. It had been self-imposed. Generally, he’d fought with Jim and needed a few hours of time to himself. This was different. He yearned for Jim to be beside him again for this strange new unknown. Spock did not want to leave Jim alone. Spock wanted to keep Jim _safe._

The facility was oval in nature, a polished dark-brown with square transparent windows and a large door. As Spock suspected, it was partially embedded into the side of the volcano. The temperature rose immediately as they stepped in; he wondered if the native species were naturally inclined to heat, or only resistant to it.

It was clear that this entrance area was also the topmost floor of this facility. Spock walked under his own power until they reached a sort of lift. The entire time, the Briori man’s arm never left his shoulder, squeezing it to the point of pain. The species had a large thick tail that dragged along the floor, sounding like marbles against metal. He maneuvered a few letters on the lift and they began to sink.

_Oh, _it occurred dimly to Spock. _They’ve converted the research facility into some sort of prisoner storage. A prison. They’ve converted it into a prison. _

Usually, bastardizing a place meant for science into this would fill Spock with indignation. Now, he felt numb enough that he could hardly grasp that he was a prisoner. Or, perhaps – the Briori _were _slavers. Even if they meant to enslave the native species, Spock didn’t think they would be picky.

He had considered his choices were either dying from exposure on the planet or dying at a very old age on Vulcan.

He had not planned on dying from overwork, on some planet on the edge of the galaxy. That had been statistically improbable.

And yet, he could not focus on his own death in that moment. Instead, he focused on Jim’s desperate face as he was dragged away from him towards the shore. What were they doing with him? Perhaps they were going to drown him there, and leave his body to float. Perhaps Jim was already gone._ There is no joy left in my life if Jim is dead, _Spock suddenly, impulsively thought in anguish, made almost hysterical from the pain and stress. He was not trained for this. He did not know what to _do. _

“Where did you take the other?” Spock asked his captor futilely as the lift stopped. A long corridor stretched out in front of him. Whatever purpose it had served before, it had been a long while since it had been used for anything scientific. Instead, the walls had been etched away and replaced with crude bars. A prison. The temperature was also _stifling _in here. Spock felt fine with it (it was no more than a particularly hot day on Vulcan), but he was surprised about its intensity nonetheless. “The human.”

He received no answer. He expected none.

As they continued further down the hallway, Spock suspected that they had grown closer to the core of the volcano. The cell walls were roughly hewn from volcanic rock, as were the floors under his feet. This had been literally dug into the mountain itself. Perhaps it had never been part of the facility at all, and the Briori had done this themselves. It certainly didn’t resemble the polished exteriors of the entrance. If so, that was concerning – how long had they been here?

They passed some cells that had the native arthropods, usually curled up or sitting in the corner, their antennae twitching in agitation. Spock realized, glumly, that they would have no shortage of labor in order to build this prison.

“You wait, Starfleet.” The Brior opened a cell door. Spock considered trying to pull away, fleeing down the hallway, but saw little good that it would do. There was no way to predict what was down the corridor. Perhaps something worse. Instead, he allowed himself to be placed inside as the cell door shut behind him.

How did the Brior know he was Starfleet? He was not wearing his uniform shirt. The remnants of that were wrapped around his head and wrapped around his arm respectively. Then he remembered Jim – smeared with dirt and blood as it was, any Brior slaver would recognize Starfleet gold as something to avoid. And he supposed that was guilt by association.

The Brior looked at him for a few seconds longer, as if sizing him up, before retreating down the hallway.

Spock was alone.

He pushed himself back against the rough floor of the cell, his back hitting the wall. Everything felt _warm _to the touch, as if someone had been sitting there minutes before. Down the hall, he heard something like a fire roaring consistently. Occasionally, he’d hear the despondent noise of one of his fellow prisoners.

He had to try. Spock could not resign himself to this situation. Getting up, he rattled against the bars of the cell. One of the other prisoners said something that Spock supposed _might _have been inquisitive, but also could have been his mind desperately trying to make sense of things. “Hello,” he tried anyway, and received no response.

Nothing. He went back to his spot against the wall. How badly his head _ached. _Spock reached up and tugged at the bandage. His fingers curled around – ah. Yes, Jim’s bow he had tied. It had been tight, able to withstand even the boot against his head. When Spock lightly untied it from his head, he saw the impression of the bootmark against the fabric.

There was one last strip of fabric against his arm. Spock considered letting his wound be. But this place was quite warm, and Spock feared infection. He removed the last piece of his shirt and tied it around his head slowly.

It was much easier to have Jim do this.

His knees were pulled up against his chest, trying to determine his options. Of that, there were few. They had removed his scanner when they’d initially pinned him, and he had nothing but his pants and his shoes. Calling for help seemed futile, and Jim was … on the surface, somewhere.

Spock crossed his legs and sat with his back firmly pressed against the warm rock. That was comfortable, at least. He shut his eyes, placed his palms on his knees, and started to meditate.

They were not going to let him die there – if that was the intention, they would have shot him immediately. The most rational solution was that he, too, was going to be sold to someone else.

Spock would rather die. Even a life with T’Pring granted him his freedom.

He would wait until they returned, and then he would somehow escape. The facility up above had, even if it had been recently converted, enough scientific equipment to contact the Enterprise. He could somehow escape, grab as many materials as he could, contact the Enterprise, find Jim, and wait. The plan was simple verbally, less so in practice.

Finding Jim was the most imperative part of the plan. Spock slowly exhaled through his nose and drifted off inside his mind, waiting.

He did not know how much time had elapsed when he returned to consciousness. It was the sound of boots, not feet, coming down the hallway. And … something dragging along the floor. Perhaps another one of the native species? Spock shifted to his knees and stared out the cell walls, anticipation building in him.

A Brior was dragging a humanoid along. The humanoid was not even making an attempt to support his weight, instead being dragged along by his torso along the corridor. His feet and torso were bare, but every inch of his body seemed covered in black dust.

The door to his cell opened. Spock looked up questioningly, before the Brior unceremoniously dropped the prisoner inside of the cell. The door was shut and locked. Before the Brior walked back down the hall, a PADD was slid between the space in the cell. The relative technology of the device compared against the roughly hewn walls of the cell was strange.

Spock knew what he hoped, but he did not want his emotions to determine the facts.

He shuffled over to the prisoner’s side, pushing him over to his back. There was no fabric around to wipe his face, so Spock just ran his hands over his face, trying to scrub away a bit of the black dust almost stuck to his body. He was so_ warm, _alarmingly so, and Spock knew this hot environment wasn’t going to suit him at all.

The eyes opened. They were a deep sea blue, set against charcoal black. Spock breathed out in relief, his head ducking down to his chest. “Jim.”

“The sauna at this place sucks,” Jim croaked out weakly, flashing a half-grin towards Spock. “Aw. You look so _worried. _That’s embarrassing for you.”

He could feel that Jim was in pain, and uncomfortable, and worried, but he was still making _jokes. _Spock couldn’t help it. He smiled down at Jim, hands stained with black soot, and then leaned down to hug him tightly against his chest.

Jim made a surprised noise and slowly raised his arms to wrap around him. Spock could feel Jim’s heart hammer against his chest. Unusual. Spock was so used to feeling heartbeats in his side. “I’m okay, buddy,” Jim soothed, patting his back. “You good?”

“Where did they place you?” Spock asked by way of answering, retreating from the hug. He missed the warmth and solidity already, but Jim was sitting up and pushing himself against the warm wall to settle.

Jim grunted and brushed some of the black dust from his body. “You remember that part of the beach that’s just covered in soot? Yeah. There. So, as much as I could figure out from my hot date, the sand there gets really hot because of the soot. They keep prisoners there when they want information from ‘em. It even gets to the arthropods.”

Hot enough to be uncomfortable for the _exoskeleton _creatures? Spock’s eyes travelled around Jim’s chest, wondering how badly he was burned underneath the dust.

He was going to get Jim out of here. Even if he was captured himself, Jim was going to get out. Spock sat back on his heels. “What did they want to know from you?”

“Nothing confidential,” Jim blurted out immediately. “Just the name of the ship I was from. Rank. What I did. Their general communication frequencies.”

That was … curious. “Why would the slavers possibly want to know details about the Enterprise?”

Jim shrugged, wincing. He reached to rub at his shoulder uncomfortably. “You got me. I tried to hold out, because I’m a plucky son of a bitch, but … it didn’t seem like it would cause any harm.” He gestured with his chin towards the PADD. “What’s that?”

Spock reached for it and sat against the wall next to Jim, reading the text on screen.

_One of you will be returned to your ship USS Enterprise. One of you will remain here. If you inform Starfleet of our presence here, the other will be killed. You both must agree. Make your choice. _


	16. Deception

An icy chill filled his veins. He was under no delusion about what would occur to the person who remained on the planet. There would be no kindness or mercy from those who sold living beings like cattle. And yet, Spock already knew his choice on the matter – what would _have _to be done. It was the most logical solution, even if Spock couldn’t force himself to be content with it.

“Shit,” Jim mumbled, groaning and putting his head on his knees. Spock heard a frankly painful sound coming from his skin as he did so.

“They believe that Starfleet will come looking for us on this planet,” Spock predicted. “If they allow one of us free to inform Starfleet that the other had died naturally, Starfleet would leave the planet. If they inform Starfleet about what occurred here, the other would be killed and the Briori operation would be ruined.”

“Ah, yeah, super intelligent and innovative for them. I’m thrilled.”

“I’m only trying to understand their reasoning, Jim. Please do not cause an argument.”

Jim went silent beside him. Spock could not see his eyes with how he was hiding his face, but Jim finally raised his hand and gripped Spock’s bicep. “Sorry. Just … hot. Burned.”

“I know.” Jim fell silent for a while longer. Spock had to consider the situation.

He hoped the solution was obvious to both of them. Jim was injured and in pain. Spock would be able to survive longer. Jim would also more believably be able to deceive Starfleet. After he was discharged, Jim also had his entire life ahead of him. Spock’s was defined, unchangeable, but Jim could do what he liked. He was intelligent and strong and good, and Spock would not deprive the galaxy of that.

Besides, if his head injury continued the way it was, Spock would not survive much longer without medical attention. He did not believe the Briori would be very generous in that regard.

On a more emotional level, he could never sentence Jim to something like this. He could never sentence _anyone _to something like this. He would endure it – whatever it had to throw at him.

Boots clicked down the hallway again. Before the Brior reached the cell wall, they had both scrambled to their feet. Spock left the PADD on the floor.

This wasn’t fair, he told himself grimly. This, and everything else, simply wasn’t fair. When Jim had beamed up safely, Spock would fight against this, even if it resulted in his death. He would try to free the native species from the Briori, even if it were his last physical act on this planet.

These people had been living peacefully, and the Briori had come to enslave them. Spock considered it a personal and Starfleet-obligated duty to assist, even in his own small way.

“Spock,” Jim muttered, turning his head. Their eyes met and Jim gave a slow nod. In that moment, Spock knew the decision was made. Jim would go, Spock would remain, they both agreed. He returned the gesture grimly, looking back towards the hallway.

The Brior stood, arms crossed over his chest. He had a rifle at his hip. Spock had never met a Brior in the flesh before, though he had heard tales. Slavery was an unthinkable concept in Vulcan culture, even before the Reformation. They dealt in labor, sex, even organ trafficking – it was impossible to predict which one they specialized in here, if any.

“Have you made your decision?” The Brior asked, hands on the key to the cell.

“We have.” Jim remarked. And in that moment, Spock felt a hand on his hip. Spock turned towards Jim – perhaps Jim had a last word to say before he was beamed up? Goodbye, perhaps? He did not want to unnecessarily drag out their last conversation together, it would hurt too much, but –

Jim was kissing him.

Jim’s hands were on his body, on the small of his back and wrapped around his shoulder. It was too much stimulation, for a second, before Spock’s brain caught up with what was going on. A kiss. He raised his hands against Jim’s chest and then pressed them against Jim’s face.

Spock realized then that Jim was attracted to him, and the idea that Jim, fantastic and good and heroic _Jim, _liked him … he was suddenly content with his decision to remain. Perhaps he would perish trying to free the arthropods from slavers, but he had been _liked. _

And he did not think he could possibly feel like this with anyone else. This sense of belonging, the utter _thrill _passing through him as Jim’s cracked lips opened against his, Jim’s stubble scratching across his own.

The kiss tasted of soot.

Jim pulled away, just slowly, just to set their foreheads together. The kiss had been wildly intimate by Vulcan standards, but Spock could not bring himself to feel embarrassed about kissing in front of another. It had felt … _very _good. Jim was smiling, lightly rolling the skin on their forehead against one another. “Really stereotypical, huh,” Jim asked.

“We have spoken about your human references. I do not know what is ‘stereotypical’ in your culture,” Spock returned, fighting a smile of his own.

“Rest assured. Very stereotypical.” Jim shut his eyes and patted Spock’s chest sadly, before turning to the Brior. The Brior’s expression hadn’t changed. “Alright. You can beam him up.”

_What? _

Spock took a step away from Jim, even as the Brior settled his key on the lock. “Disregard that,” he ordered. “Jim, what are you doing?”

Jim looked flabbergasted. “But – we just – we did that unspoken agreement thing, and then we had the dramatic goodbye, and I thought we understood each other!”

“Clearly not. I was under the impression that you would be the one to return to the _Enterprise.” _

“Yeah, over my d – _not a chance in hell.” _

“Jim, you’re _injured.” _Spock insisted. “You won’t be able to sustain yourself in this environment. It is the most logical decision.”

“And – Okay, look, you –” Jim suddenly whipped around towards the Brior, marching over to the cell ways. Spock noticed that he was significantly less dusty than usual. Looking down, Spock saw that it was because a large portion of it had ended up on himself. “Unless you get a sudden change of heart and want to beam both of us up, you’re gonna have to give us a minute.”

The Brior looked at Jim for a second, considering the man with his outstretched finger, before turning and walking back down the hall. Jim kept facing the bars of the cell wall. Lit by the dim light of the corridor, Spock saw that he was sweating.

“Spock, let’s get one thing straight. There is no way I am going to let you stay here while I go up. I’m the one who stays here. You go up. You’re a genius, you’ve got so much potential to get back to. Starfleet was my last shot – I was a delinquent with nothing else to do. It’s best this way.”

He was not going to stand here and listen to Jim talk poorly of himself. Feeling somewhat spurred on by the kiss, Spock rested a hand on Jim’s back. “No matter your feelings,” Spock promised, “They will not change my mind. I refuse to leave you here. You are exceptional to me, and I would not see that wasted.”

Jim’s forehead rested on the bars of the cell. “God _damn. _Spock, literally everyone else in my life has let me down or left me -- I’m literally begging you to leave me here, and you’re not?”

Spock’s hand didn’t move from Jim’s back.

“Then … I mean, Jesus, Spock, we could just sit in this cell together until we die. Because that’s the other option. If we don’t figure something else out, then we sit in here together until we die.”

“Perhaps you should change your opinion.”

Jim shot him a look, grunting in displeasure. Still, Spock remained firm. There was no possible way that Spock would agree to let himself be taken away. “Then we will wait,” he announced, going to the corner of the cell. He sat cross-legged on the floor and regarded Jim primly.

His friend didn’t look well. Sweat poured over his torso, streaking away some of the dust that still lined his body. He had shifted all of his weight to one leg.

They maintained eye contact. Spock suspected that Jim was under the impression he could stare him into submission, but Spock would not allow that. Jim could talk him into many things – this entire illogical, irrational situation – but talking him into throwing away his life was something he would not abide.

“Vulcan asshole.” Jim growled, pivoting away from Spock to stare at the wall. Spock did not allow himself to be hurt by the slight. He was surprised Jim had not lost his temper previously. Jim’s hands went to his hips and he looked down, considering. Spock heard him mutter to himself, so unintelligibly that he could not pick it out.

He did not want Jim to die here. How fruitless it would be.

Finally, Jim turned around to face Spock. “Okay. _Look. _How about we make it a – we make it a wager. Over a game of chess.”

Spock blinked at him in confusion.

“We play a game of chess. There’s enough dust on the ground here to make a terrible chessboard. Whoever wins stays here. Whoever loses gets beamed up.”

He recalled the previous game that they played, how their chessboard had been ruined by the wind and the sand. There had been no clear winner there, but Spock was confident in his abilities to beat Jim. If he won, he would get his way. But …

“Does it not seem illogical to bet your life and freedom on a game of chance?”

Jim cracked a smile at him. “Baby, I’ve bet my life on worse odds before.”

That term of endearment had a different connotation after their shared kiss. Spock did not allow himself to dwell on that for too long – the stakes were so much higher than Spock’s apparent romantic life. He still felt dust on his lips, and he wiped them off as best as he could.

“Do we have a deal?” Jim stuck his hand out.

Spock hesitated in looking at him. It didn’t feel _right. _None of this felt right, and Spock only wanted to return to the _Enterprise _with Jim at his side. Even if they got discharged for this entire foolish endeavor, Jim would be alive and safe and happy.

Even so, perhaps he could be alive and safe and happy again.

Spock reached out and clasped Jim’s hand in his own. It felt like fire surging up his body, warm and real. Jim was grimly determined, and Spock realized in that moment that he wanted Spock to beam aboard as much as Spock wanted the opposite. They were two equally matched pairs in their wanting. He shook Jim’s hand and pulled away.

Slowly, he began to draw a chess board into the volcanic dust lining the cell. Jim began to collect rocks, making an earnest attempt to find lighter colored and darker colored ones to differentiate, as Spock completed his task.

He did not like the idea of Jim’s life, as precious as it was to him, being decided on a _bet. _But the statistical probability that he would win was low, he told himself, so Spock would win and Jim would receive the medical care he needed.

“You don’t need to make it super detailed, Spock,” Jim complained as Spock began to fill in the black squares of the grid with additional dust. “Just a plain grid is fine.” He turned his head to the side and coughed; Spock saw black dust being exhaled from his lungs as he did so. Jim’s voice was hoarse and growing weaker. When he sat down on the other side of the board, Spock doubted his ability to stand back up again.

“Are you well enough to do this, Jim?” Spock asked softly. “I _insist, _if you need medical attention – “

“You already agreed. Telling me that Vulcans …” Jim took a moment’s pause to cough again. “Are starting to break their oaths?”

He thought of his oath to T’Pring. _Vulcans are willing to break their oaths for one James Tiberius Kirk. _“I’m only concerned of your health,” Spock replied politely as he finished his drawing. “I am naturally more suited to this environment than you are.”

Indeed, the warmth was pleasant but not overbearing for him. His head ached and Spock had no doubt that the infection of his head was growing worse and sapping his strength, but Jim would not last much longer. Perhaps not much longer than one chess game, perhaps less, before he succumbed to the heat.

He did not let himself think about what would happen if he lost.

He would not lose. He was Vulcan. The only reason they had not invented chess themselves was because they considered games to be an illogical frivolity.

Spock allowed Jim to make the first move, his grimy hands pushing one rock forward diligently. “If – “ Jim coughed out. His fingers shook, now, as they continued playing. Occasionally he would inadvertently flick a rock away and he would have to retrieve it. “I’m sorry, Spock.”

“For?”

“This. All this. All this bullshit. Bringing you here.” The game continued as Jim spoke. “I’m a – the fucking black hole of people. Anyone who’s around me gets hurt. I’m so _sorry.” _

Spock thought of Jim’s history. Everyone knew the story of his father, but beyond that – there had been his previous criminal record, his history on Tarsus IV, and everything that Spock did not yet know.

“I knew precisely as much information going into this as you, Jim,” Spock lightly remonstrated as he lost a … yes, that was one of his rooks. It was difficult to tell, using volcanic rocks as chess pieces. He had to memorize where each piece was located to begin with. “Would you have me apologize, for not talking you out of this illogical situation before we even left?”

“Course not. Would’ve went anyway. You know.’ Jim coughed. “Probably. Gotten caught, though, couldn’t override a shuttle system like you.”

Spock nodded. “Then I am sorry that I was complicit in this plan.’

“Okay. We can both be sorry, I guess, not like it does much – _god, _damn sweat in my eyes,” Jim hissed, trying to wipe it away with whatever clean piece of skin he had left. Spock waited patiently for him to finish. “Not like hindsight does much good, here.”

“No. It does not.” Spock continued moving his pieces as Jim finished his. “Would it relieve you at all to know that it has not been as miserably draining as you claim?” Jim’s eyes shot up to him, now red and irritated. “I have been happy here, on occasion. Vulcans do not _be _happy.”

“When you were wanting to strangle me?” Jim cracked him a weary smile. “I get that.”

“_No.” _ Spock did not want to elaborate. The moment when Jim had touched his hand for the first time, when Jim had jovially kissed him on the side of the head in celebration, when they had watched the volcanic island come into view. When Jim had grabbed him and embraced him like they were saying goodbye for the final time. “It was only due to your company and your – in Vulcan, we call it a _katra. _Your essence. Your soul.”

And now, Spock had no guilt over it. Being happy hadn’t felt illogical, hadn’t felt like he was doing anything _wrong. _Perhaps it was straying away from certain Vulcan teachings, but Spock was suddenly certain, now more than ever, that there had to be a middle ground for a being who had one foot in each world.

He had no idea what that middle ground would be. But he wanted Jim to be in it.

Jim paused in his moves for a second, only looking at Spock with warm eyes. He gave him a shaky grin. His entire body was trembling lightly now, his body clammy and pale. Spock noticed that the legs in his muscles were twitching uncontrollably.

“Thanks, Spock. That does help. I feel like I should also apologize for …” Jim squinted at the board. His voice was growing weaker. Spock wished desperately that he had water for him. “Before all this. I thought you were a gigantic asshole. Like, I _really _didn’t like you.”

That surprised him. “But you acted so amiably towards me.”

“It, um – “ Jim shook his head, confused. “Human thing. We shared quarters. What was I gonna do, let my roommate know that I thought he was a weird dick?” He peered at the board. “Um, sorry, was this a - - would this be a legal move? Can’t remember what this one was.”

Spock assisted his movements. The game was going in his own favor so far, but he was surprised, again, at Jim’s ability and skill. Spock had lost several pieces already, and Jim was clearly in the throes of heat exhaustion. “If you disliked me,” he asked, “Why would you ask me to accompany you?”

“ ‘Cause I really wanted to do this?” Jim clarified. His voice was unsteady. Spock began to notice that, although Jim had been sweating excessively before, all the sweat had dried onto his skin and he did not seem to be producing any more. That was … concerning. “You were a – a dick – dickhe – asshole, but I knew you’d take this seriously. Wouldn’t goof off. Make jokes. You’d do your duty, and I wanted – I wanted you to do this with me.”

“I do not commonly make jokes,” Spock agreed softly. Jim’s fingers had dug into the rock to try and move a piece, but he did not seem to be able to. He placed his fingers underneath Jim’s wrist and rose his hand a few inches, allowing Jim to make a move. “I did not like you. I thought you a t’var’eth – a brat. And Vulcans are not meant to feel emotion in such a sense, enough to _dislike _people, and that irritated me all the more.”

“So this is like, uh ...” Jim let out a laugh. It was distressingly high-pitched, and he could only dissolve into giggles for a few seconds as he lost another game piece. “Really fucked-up couple’s therapy.”

Jim’s pale skin was starting to redden, as if he had a thorough fever. Spock suspected that he, in fact, did. He looked down at the board to assess what was going on in the game. Jim’s last few moves hadn’t made sense. They were technically _legal, _but followed no known theory. At least, that Spock knew of.

Was he simply playing at random? Or had the delirium of heat stroke started to set in?

Jim’s eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. He wasn’t even looking at the game board anymore, but instead peered directly into Spock’s face. His next words were spoken emphatically, even if they were a clear effort to get out.

“You know I’m … into you, r-right?”

He collapsed forward, onto their chess arena.

It was completely obliterated as he did so, with no hope of finishing the game. That was not where Spock’s concern lied, however. He reached for Jim’s torso immediately, rolling him onto his back. His skin was scorching to the touch, red and dry. Jim’s eyes were shut, but he could see them flicking underneath his eyelids.

Spock slapped at his face lightly. “Jim. _Jim, _wake up. Wake up.” His hand travelled across Jim’s neck, his shoulder, all the while giving him a light shake in an attempt to rouse him.

“Spock …” Jim murmured by way of reply. “_Spock._”

He got no more out of him. Alarm filled Spock him. Perhaps their wager wouldn’t matter at all – it certainly wouldn’t, if Jim died right here in this cell from heat exhaustion. He shook Jim again, and only received the man repeating his name, over and over.

Spock cradled Jim’s torso against his chest, hoping that his relatively cooler skin temperature would, at least, help. It did not. “Jim,” he insisted.

“Spock.” It seemed all that Jim was capable of saying, no matter how many times Spock tried to cajole him into consciousness. What was worse was that it was becoming weaker, softer, more scratchy. But still – it was, _intelligibly, _his name.

He had an idea.

It was technically lying. And Jim would be so furious at him.

But it was an idea.

Spock placed Jim on the ground and went to the cell bars, his hands firmly grasping them. “_Guard!” _Spock called out. He pushed against the bars and the entire cell wall shook, though it gave him no leeway. “We have reached a decision! Guard!”

The Brior guard returned. If he was concerned about the clearly delirious prisoner on the floor, he made no show of it. “Who remains here?” He asked gravelly, tongue flicking out again in the heat.

“I will remain. I will remain here, and Lieutenant Kirk will be beamed up to the Enterprise.”

The Brior looked towards the delirious prisoner, and Spock went over to him. He picked Jim up off the ground and slung his arm around his shoulder. Jim was entirely dead weight, slumped against him. “Jim,” Spock coaxed lightly. “Who will remain here on this planet?”

Jim fidgeted lightly, turning his head to press against Spock’s neck. Spock did not suspect that Jim had full control of his faculties. He lightly shook Jim’s head off him, so that his voice could be heard by the guard. Jim muttered in frustration, only faintly audible, “Spock.”

The Brior was unlocking the door.

Relief flooded Spock. Jim would live. So long as they beamed him up to the Enterprise in an appropriate amount of time, he would live. He did not care what happened to his own person, now, because he had managed to save Jim.

Jim did not willingly detach himself from Spock, and so Spock had to pry him off and hand him over to the Brior. He took his friend, carrying him with significantly less care than Spock did. Jim’s eyes fluttered open once to look at Spock. Spock expected to see anger, betrayal, but Jim was not conscious enough to understand what just happened. The gaze Jim sent him was dim and confused.

The Brior re-locked the door as soon as he had Jim outside of it, leaving Spock alone in his cell. “Jim,” he said desperately, stepping towards the cell wall again. Jim would not hear, but he did not want his last words to Jim be for the purpose of manipulation. “Ni'droi'ik nar-tor.” _I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. _

He did not know what else to say – but, in the end, Jim was not listening regardless. The Brior adjusted Jim’s arm around his shoulders as Jim sank further into unconsciousness. With barely a glance more at Spock, he led Jim away from the prison cells entirely.

Spock stood by the cell walls until he could no longer hear either of them. After, he settled himself in the corner of the cell, cross-legged, with his hands on his knees.

The reality of the situation began to sink in. Saving Jim had been his first priority, and he accomplished it. Now, he had to think of his future. He would free the arthropods from the Briori, even if it meant his death. In that scenario, his death was likely. Almost certain.

He meditated for a few minutes, to calm his mind. At least he no longer had to worry that his actions would result in Jim’s death. Jim would be safe, and he could act entirely independently. The tension eased from his muscles as that thought gave him confidence.

When he heard three Briori come down the hall and stop in front of his cell, Spock did not make a move. He did not flinch.

“You will come with us, Starfleet.” One stated, unlocking the door and stepping inside. Spock looked up at her silently, but made no move to assist. He was calculating the possibilities of where they would be taking him. No possibility seemed particularly pleasant. “We’ve _said! – _“ She took Spock by his underarm, yanking him up painfully. “You will come with _us. _Your lover has returned to his ship.”

His … lover?

Oh. Given that the Brior guard had watched Jim embrace him, that was not a particularly illogical solution. This Brior tried to make him move forward, but Spock stood firm. “Where am I going?” He asked. It was not a question that he expected an answer to.

There could be a better opportunity in the future, Spock knew, if he wanted to rescue the arthropods. They could leave him somewhere unguarded, and Spock could free himself from his bindings and make a valiant escape attempt – free the others and somehow hail his ship.

Alternatively, there could also be no further opportunities. They could also take him directly outside of his cell, shoot him with the phaser rifle, and leave his corpse to decompose.

He would have to take this one, now. He had no guarantee of his future, and even if it was risky, Spock had to act now if he had any hope of making a difference. _Shiyau thol'es k'thorai ri k'ahm. Nobility lies in action, not in name. _He raised his free arm and reached for the Brior woman’s neck.

Spock had been slow to learn the Vulcan nerve pinch technique. His father (not harshly, but even so) had informed him that he was too impatient, too jerky in his movements. Performing a Vulcan nerve pinch required quick, carefully planned action – a simple pinpoint that had to be made in the heat of the moment. He had tried again and again in the training centre, only to fail each time. Once, when he had been a young child who hadn’t even passed his _kahs-wan, _Spock had erupted into tears in front of his mother at his mistakes.

His mother had hugged him tightly. _Don’t worry, bug, _she had insisted, _You put so much pressure on yourself. What if I told you that I thought you were the bravest, strongest Vulcan on the planet, just the way you are right now? _

Now, almost two decades later, Spock experienced no difficulty.

The Brior woman fell onto the floor, and the other two Briori sprung into his cell. One had a phaser rifle. Spock raised his hand in defense as they approached them. If he managed to obtain the rifle for one of them, it would be no difficulty at all to fire into their heads, take it, and flee. He would be able to take out any of the Briori guards if he had the phaser rifle on him, maximized to a scale that would result in certain death.

_No, _Spock told himself stubbornly. _Vah mau vah tor-yehat ri stau. As far as possible, do not kill. _They would be incapacitated, but he had promised himself that he would not kill again. Spock intended to keep that promise intact, because there was only one individual who could make a Vulcan break their oaths.

He leapt forward for the phaser rifle as the Briori guards approached, easily taking it from their hands. The action caused one Brior guard to fall backwards, failing to catch themselves against the bars of the cell. The rifle was dashed against the cell wall, breaking cleanly in two. In doing so, one Brior took the opportunity to slam their boot into his back. Spock stumbled forward, the front of his head cracking against the hard rock of the wall. He blinked, seeing stars, and then he felt cold, scaly hands at his wrists.

“Do not damage yourself, Starfleet,” One of the Brior hissed into his ear. Spock realized that his hands were being bound again behind him, and he fervently yanked them away. The guard growled at him and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him to the ground. Spock fell to his knees painfully.

The Brior who had the phaser rifle from before had collected one of the pieces of the phaser rifle and was advancing towards him, wielding it like a club in his hand. Spock tried to tear himself away, to stand, but the other Brior was standing behind him, now, both hands firmly on his shoulders.

Spock looked up at the approaching Brior and watched him raise the end of the phaser rifle.

_Dakh pthak. Nam-tor re ret na’fan-kitok fa tu dakh pthak. Cast out fear. There is no room for anything else until you -- _

The end of the phaser rifle came down, and Spock let out a yelp of pain before falling over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah title drop aaah  
As a fun fact about SupposedToBeWriting, the scene where Jim and Spock play chess to gamble for their lives is the very, very first Spirk thing I ever wrote. Initially, the concept for the fic wasn't even made yet, and so it was in an entirely different context. In the end, it was too short to be a full fic and too long to be a one-shot, so it never got published on its own and I was always wanted to include it in the future. So, when I started to draft this fic, I got the idea that ... well, maybe this would fit in nicely here ... and then the rest of the fic started to grow around it.
> 
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> 
> Thank you all to those who have read/left kudos'ed/commented! It's always good to see folks' reactions to a fic and I do genuinely enjoy seeing what parts or lines people like most and how they differ from mine. I think there's going to be two more updates, three chapters each, which puts us finishing a little after the New Year. Thanks again!


	17. Meanwhile ...

Pike just couldn’t wrap his head around it. These two boys were bright, brave, and hardworking. That they’d do something so stupid like take a shuttle on a joyride to a barely-explored planet was something he just couldn’t comprehend. Above it all was the _guilt _– the boys had been on personal leave, sure, there was no _reason _why Pike should’ve known the location of a couple of Lieutenants … but they were his crew, damn it. He felt responsible.

They’d sent a couple of concerned messages to their comm-badges on the planet, but they hadn’t gone through. The shuttle hadn’t received their hails, either. Which meant, without any interpretation, that both shuttle and comm-badges were non-operational. And if they were both non-operational …

That was about when Pike’s concern took a more desperate tone.

It’d been a couple of days. He knew Jim had survival skills – his unfortunate history had made Pike very aware of that – and Spock had lived on Vulcan, which was inhospitable at best. Under perfect conditions, Pike was confident that they could pull through. But their away mission had only lasted a few hours. God knew what was down there.

Well, they knew partially what was down there. Scotty had scanned the planet and found the remnants of a wrecked Starfleet shuttle. His conclusion was that it had probably started to break up in the atmosphere. Pike had asked whether it was likely that they had died on impact, and Scotty just hadn’t given him an answer. When pressed, he had just responded that it depended on a thousand parameters he just didn’t know.

Pike wouldn’t give up until they found bodies. He was in the process of prepping an away team to go out searching. _Enterprise _didn’t often have to deal with underwater retrieval, but they could manage it if needed.

Above it all, he didn’t want to call up Winona and tell her that her little boy was dead. And he definitely didn’t want to call up the Vulcan ambassador and tell him that _his _little boy was dead.

They both were going to go do great things with their careers, Pike was positive on it, and now they’d gone and wrecked it for themselves, even _if _they were still alive. Stealing and wrecking a Starfleet shuttle was no small offense. He was in his ready room, puzzling over the specifics of the away team. He was going to comb that planet for any sign of them being there, because _damn it, _Pike hated losing people more than anything. Especially two guys who’d just made Lieutenant.

“Sir,” Their communications officer buzzed in. Pike reached for his comm.

“Go ahead.”

“We’re receiving a request for someone to be transported up.”

Pike blinked. They had a transporter down on that planet? But the initial away team had said that it was completely uninhabited by sentient life forms. He blinked. “Who’s exactly beaming up? And _how?” _

“We can’t pick it up on the scanners; I’m presuming it’s too far underground for us to pick up their technology. They haven’t identified themselves, but they’ve stated that they have a Starfleet officer in need of medical attention.”

When she spoke, Pike felt his mouth go dry. “Just one?”

There was a pause while Uhura continued contact, before she confirmed. “Just the one, sir.”

He hoped, whether it was a Vulcan or a human that beamed up, that he had a _damn _good story.

“Give the go-ahead and have Bones prepared to accept him. I’ll meet him back in sickbay.” Pike remarked back into the communicator, his fingers thudding against the table. One of them was alive. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but think that – if only one was being beamed up – then maybe the other was dead.

_Jesus. _He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the thought. Junior officers could be reckless, sure, but it usually didn’t result in death. And he had a special connection with both Kirk and Spock, assisting in their specific recruitments.

He pushed himself up from the ready room and tugged his uniform shirt down, clearing his throat. The trip to sickbay was short, but it gave him time to go over crewmen death protocol again. Technically, he wasn’t meant to inform the emergency contact or next-of-kin until Starfleet had received the news and registered it.

Pike usually made an exception. He hated sitting on news like this.

The doors to sickbay slid open and Pike was astounded by the commotion. There was Bones, a stodgy Georgian doctor, adjusting a few different instruments near Jim’s head. Chapel was inserting an IV. The patient lying in the bed was so covered with dirt that Pike couldn’t make out who it was. f

“It’s Jim,” Bones barked out, not looking up from his position. “He’s got heatstroke.”

_Heatstroke? _Out of everything that Pike had been imagining from a shuttle crash, he hadn’t pictured heatstroke. Then again, he supposed Jim had been surviving on his own for a few days. Maybe he’d just overexerted himself. “Is he conscious?” Pike asked. An IV pouch was shoved into his hands by Chapel. Jim had started to shake, and Chapel reached for his arm to inject a hypospray. Accordingly, Pike started to hook the IV pouch up to a stand.

“No. Nah. Another fifteen minutes and it would’ve fried his brain. Chapel, he’s starting to _shiver, _give him a benz – oh. Thanks,” Bones corrected himself. He snatched a PADD and made a few adjustments. Pike felt the bed grow cold as the chief medical officer reached for the blanket underneath Jim and toss it to the side haphazardly. “He’s got other injuries. Nothing major. He’ll come to in a second. _Alright, _Jim, wakeup now, morning bell.” Bones patted against Jim’s face. The boy was starting to sweat as Pike watched from a foot away from the bed. “He’s not gonna be too active, you understand, but you might get a few words out of him.”

Jim’s eyelids were fluttering as Bones spoke, and Pike stepped forward. “Lieutenant – _Jim. _How are we doing?”

“Cap’n,” Jim murmured respectfully, his voice weak. “Permission to – to come aboard?”

_Jesus Christ on a cracker. _Pike grinned at him, patting his shoulder. “Permission granted, Lieutenant.” Jim only nodded in response. He didn’t know if the kid was aware enough to even recall Spock at all, much less know what happened to him. “Jim, do you – “

Jim’s eyes snapped open. Slowly, he started to move his arms – but it was like his entire body was made of molasses. He grunted in effort, and Pike realized in shock that he was trying to move his legs. Was he trying to _get up? _

“You’re supposed to be fucking _sedated _right now,” Bones hissed. “Chapel, get me another hypo for him, he’s not going to be up walking around.”

“No!” Jim turned towards his friend to directly address him. There were tears in his eyes – whether from emotion or the sheer effort he had just expressed trying to move himself. With some of the dust wiped away, Pike could see that he had an awful shiner on him. “No, Captain, you don’t – “ He looked back towards Pike. “Spock’s still down there. I have to go get him. _Please.” _

Pike raised his eyes, making eye contact with Bones. Spock was still alive. Living, breathing. “Lieutenant,” he commanded, voice slipping into a more firm tone. “Tell me where he is.”

They could deal with _what happened _and _why _and _how the hell could you be so stupid _later. Right now, the one that _got back _was almost dead from heatstroke. Pike didn’t want to think about how worse off the one who was still on the island was. He was going to go down, pinch Spock by his pointy little ears, and yank him back to the Enterprise.

“There’s – there’s people. People down there. Arthr –” Jim hissed as Chapel injected another hypospray in him. He was sweating badly now, his chest heaving up and down. “Big bugs. And Briori. Slavers. Coming to – captured them. Captured Spock.”

Shit. He could get the gist from there. The Federation had had a few incidents of the Briori’s work, but they were usually not so bold as to invade an uncontacted planet. Not to mention that apparently there was a native species down there, after all, which was another thing to investigate later.

“_Where, _son.”

“Volcano.” Jim insisted, sounding out each syllable carefully. “Facility. In volcano. Cells. Prison cells.”

That was all Pike needed to know. “Good man,” he insisted at Jim. “Get some rest.” Whatever Chapel had given him was clearly kicking in as Jim’s eyes started to droop. Before he completely nodded off, Jim rose one trembling hand to squeeze Pike’s wrist.

Pike rose his eyes, and Bones nodded. “He’ll be alright. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

This was rapidly turning into a humanitarian mission. Diplomatically tricky – they hadn’t made official First Contact with the species yet, but like hell was he just going to sit around and let them be taken away from their home. Not to mention that there was a captured Starfleet officer down there in an unknown state. Pike could care less what regulation said – he was going down there, now.

“Captain to away team,” Pike barked into his communicator as he started off towards the transporter bay briskly. “Get four officers from the security team and meet me in the transporter room. We’re going to have to move up our away mission.”


	18. Mr. Humpty Dumpty

Spock’s head hurt. He tried to take inventory of his injuries there – an open wound, a likely concussion near the rear of his skull, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he had given himself another concussion when he’d slammed the front of his head against the cell wall. At this point, it was difficult not to think of his brain being jostled around like …

Like …

Something liquid in nature held in place by a rigid parallelogram. Spock’s head hurt.

His vision came and went with its precision; occasionally he would lurch forward and see that he suddenly has four or eight or … sixteen legs. He was thankful that the corridor outside of his cell was dimly lit, but it was enough to drive an even larger spike directly into his brain. And, through it all, was the persistent _riiiiiiiiiiiiing _in his ears, drowning out everything else.

If he wasn’t being led by a very still hand, Spock knew he would not be able to make the journey. He did not know where he was going to between with. Shutting his eyes, he continued shuffling down the stifling corridor.

The Brior leading him remained silent, but the two Briori behind were chattering amongst themselves. The talk drove like nails into his brain. He had wanted to fight back, he _had, _but he wasn’t even certain he’d hit them if he threw a punch now. As it was, his hands were bound behind his back.

They walked through an opening. Spock instinctively looked up to inspect the light, and immediately regretted it. The _sun. _That was the sun, they were outside. He cracked open his eyes to inspect his surroundings. They were in a large hemispherical cave dug out into the edge of the volcano. Outside, it was mid-day. Spock could see the forest extending out in front of him – further, the shore, and then the ocean where they had sailed in on.

They. Jim. He wondered how Jim was doing. Okay, he hoped.

“Keep walking.” The Brior growled at him, sticking the rifle into his back. Spock didn’t respond and the rifle was dug a little deeper, causing Spock to unwillingly walk forward.

In front of them was a shuttle. Understandable that they had been brought in a shuttle. A starship would be too obvious in orbit, and they could scarcely hide something half the size of the volcano on the island itself. The shuttle itself was old, made and repaired a dozen times over, but it would fly.

“Where …” Spock breathed out, shutting his eyes again. He was being led again. His nose as dripping. Spock tried to sniff hard and got a throat full of blood for his trouble, causing him to choke and gag. “Are we going,” he finished in a wheeze.

They had not answered. Spock should not have wasted his breath on the question. One of the Briori opened the hatch to the shuttle. At first, the light differential between the outside and the inside prevented Spock from looking inside. Quickly, though, he was roughly shoved inside. He lost his footing and tripped, landing on his hands and knees just inside the shuttle. The door closed behind him.

His sudden shift in balance made him black out for a second, growing still and nonresponsive on the shuttle floor. When he came to, he didn’t want to look up to see what this new cell was – at least the old one was somewhat larger than the inside of a cramped shuttle.

Then, Spock heard clicking.

He raised his head in the dim light and saw only antennae reflected against it.

Roughly a dozen of the arthropods were looking down at him – the poor shirtless, injured, weak Vulcan cowering on the metal floor of a damaged shuttle. This was, Spock dimly thought in the back of his mind, a true First Contact between the Federation and a native species. The first true moment of communication. It was momentous, what every crewmember on an exploratory vessel hoped for someday, and he did not even have a translator on him.

Still, there were yet protocols that had to be followed.

Spock pushed himself up from the floor, his arms shaking as he did so. His body wanted to give out. His mind did not. He folded his legs underneath him and raised his green-stained hand in the traditional ta’al. The arthropods stared at him, but Spock could see nothing in their large, black eyes.

“Greetings, from the Federation of United Planets,” Spock forced out in Standard. _It was protocol. He had an obligation to duty, to Pike, to the Enterprise, to Starfleet. _“We mean you no harm. We are a society built on peace, exploration, and … and …” He had memorized this speech a hundred times. Why could he not force the last word out? It was on the tip of his tongue, it was in so many textbooks that he had read, he had heard Pike … “_Unity,” _he forced out, outright gritting his jaw. “It is our honor, and privilege, to make contact with you.”

That was it.

Spock’s hand dropped flat to the floor. His body soon followed as he crumpled to the side. He held onto consciousness for a few more difficult seconds. Like trying to put out a fire, Spock’s mind tried to fight back against the oncoming weakness, but soon, it was too much. All Spock wanted to do was close his eyes and drift away.


	19. A Rescue

It was hot as hell. A sweat broke out on him the second they beamed down onto the planet. They’d been placed right down on a ledge. Pike didn’t think that the opening they saw into the volcano was intended to be there – it looked as if the rock, from the heat or the pressure or _something, _had split open. It was a deep, deep chasm that wasn’t more than a foot and a half across.

“Any of you got claustrophobia?” Pike asked with a half-grin. His cavalierly unbothered exterior was a good cover for the bubbling mess inside him. He had one bright-as-_hell _Lieutenant down there, and if Jim had been in a sorry state when they found him, he couldn’t imagine how Spock was. Sure, he could handle the heat a little more, but Jim could handle … well, Jim could handle damn near anything after the nightmare that had been Tarsus IV.

He wasn’t even thinking of their reprimands, later. Something like this? A man could get kicked out of Starfleet for something like this, easily. That’d be sending Spock back to Vulcan and Jim back to Iowa, and he wasn’t sure which was worse for their overall health.

The away team, mostly composed of security officers, mumbled an uneasy negative to Pike’s question. He tapped up behind his ear, indicating that they do the same. His translator was clipped there, a covert piece of equipment that wrapped just around the stem of his ear. “Alright, let’s do a test, boys.”

Pike didn’t know a whole lot of phrases in Klingon. The translator always got certain inflections better than he could ever hope to try. Just the basics: _hello, how are you, yes, the sun does shine with the glory of our honor today. _

He did know one: _‘IHqu’ Ha’DIbaH tun._

“I,” he announced slowly, mouths forming over the strange Klingon diction, “Am a cute, soft bunny rabbit.”

Even in the tension of the situation, a few of the away team started to snicker behind their hands as the translator worked its magic. Pike smiled, convinced the crew was now at ease, and started to slide his way into the open crevice. It was so tight that Pike had to pluck his comm-badge off and slide it in his pocket, because otherwise he was _definitely _asking for a few holes in his shirt. 

It got darker as they made their way further into the volcano. The away team was silent, uncertain of how close they were to the Briori – or the native species, for that matter. Pike was more-or-less left alone with his thoughts.

He remembered meeting Spock for the first time, an almost disturbingly eager, nervous bundle of nerves. Of course, he’d never show it with that solid face of his, but the kid had jumped damn near six feet when he had dropped a tricorder on the floor the first day they’d met.

Jim must’ve been some sort of miracle worker to bring him down here, because there was no way Spock would readily agree to break protocol like that. Jim, though? It was basically his modus operandi. Miracle working.

They kept sliding along the rough crevice until it opened up into something relatively manmade. A corridor. Made for something a little larger than humans, Pike would think, given how high the ceiling was above their heads. He could see cells roughly hewn into the walls, dark, twisted metal forming the bars for them. This was a prison block. Makeshift, as far as Pike could see. “Spock,” he called out in a loud whisper. There was no response. No sound of anything, at all.

Until there was.

Pike saw one corner of a black leather boot turn the cover before he leapt back into the crevice, pushing the away team back. _Mama didn’t raise no boy with bad reflexes. _Urging them back silently, they watched as one of the Briori started to cross the hall.

“How many do you think we can fit in the shuttle?” One of them asked her companion, clutching a phaser rifle close against her chest. “If only these bugs weren’t so _big.” _

He grunted in response. “The Vulcan didn’t take up so much room. Consider him half a unit. We can fit four more, at least. Pick one of the littler ones.”

“The grubs?” Her tone was clearly jokingly cruel, but the male did not respond. Behind them came a short line of what Pike could assume were the native species. When Jim said bugs, he wasn’t exactly far off.

At first, he could only hear frantic noises as the translator scrambled to catch up. It was a fine piece of technology, though, and soon, it started to vocalize itself into something that was well near Standard.

Pike almost wished it hadn’t.

“_Where are we – where are they taking us?”_

_“Please, have you seen Tchik? He’s my boy, I was at home when they came …” _

_“It’s too much … I don’t think I can go on.”_

_“Who are these people?”_

_“Do you think they’re taking us to join the others? I don’t want to go back to the ash fields again.”_

It was difficult to pick out specific sentences among the hum of despairing, exhausted mumbling between the crowd. He understood enough, and it filled him with determination. Pike was going to _fix _this, because he was a god _damn Captain in the Federation of United Planets and he was going to take these motherfuckers’ spines out through their assholes. _

The rest of the away team pushed against him, ready to leap into action. Pike raised one hand, bidding them to stop. No. They were leading them somewhere, potentially with others. If they made an attack now, the entire volcano would go on alert. They had to wait and make their strike carefully. The Briori and arthropods continued down the corridor. Pike stuck his head out of the chasm when they passed a considerable distance. As soon as they turned another corner, Pike waved his hand to indicate the away team should follow him.

He usually wasn’t one for covert operations, but the away team managed to perform admirably as they followed the group at a distance. Their hands rested at their phasers to keep them from making noise against their sides. Together they went down the corridor. Dim, hot, and smelling of sulfur, Pike had to wonder what the purpose of this place was before the slavers had come along.

Up ahead, Pike only saw white light. Given the situation, Pike was discomforted enough to think of the _light at the end of the tunnel _motif, and he wondered if the arthropods had a similar idea here. They began to grow more anxious as they kept moving, long, pointed appendages starting to rub together.

Pike stood with the others just at the end of the exit. From there, he could see that they were actually looking to the outside of the volcano. There was a small lip poking out from the opening, a singular staircase step jutting out from the side. It would make for a pretty good shuttle parking spot – and there one was, looking sort of like the busted-up old training shuttles Pike had trained with in the Academy.

The Briori turned around, and with a barked order, commanded the arthropods to enter the shuttle. The doors popped open, but Pike couldn’t see anything inside but dim darkness.

A quick hand gesture was all Pike needed to order the away team forward. “Alright,” he urged, raising his phaser against the two Briori. “Let’s not make this messy. We’ve got four of us here, and only two of you.”

His words translated perfectly into Briori, but apparently the language of peace wasn’t exactly universal. The woman Briori raised her phaser rifle and shot at them, hitting the arm of one of the security officers squarely. He clutched it to his chest. In response, Pike raised his own phaser and shot back at them.

Volleys of concentrated light were passed back and forth, creating brilliant silhouettes against the crater walls. The arthropods quickly leapt out of the way of the blasts, some scattering back into the volcano itself for safety. In the end, the lightshow didn’t last more than a few minutes before two Starfleet phasers found their mark: the Briori jerked back, stunned, before crumpling to the ground.

Pike turned around, taking a quick inventory of his own team. “Patel, Jhen, you both okay?” He asked in a soft grunt, placing his hand on Patel’s shoulder. Grimacing in pain, the officer nodded. The other officer was holding up Crewman Jhen, but determined after a moment’s silence that they were unconscious but breathing normally. Pike reached for his comm-badge and requested that two injured officers be beamed up, and three more get beamed down. Pike had a feeling that there were going to be a lot more Briori to deal with, later, and the two unconscious ones had to be placed in the brig regardless.

As the newly-beamed-down officers started to prepare the unconscious prisoners for transport, Pike went to the shuttle and stuck his head in.

His eyes hadn’t yet adjusted from the bright light outside, but he could see maybe a dozen arthropods all crammed into the shuttle. None of them were speaking. Pike couldn’t rightly say whether they were in shock or terrified or maybe very, very angry. It was hard to read anything in their large black eyes.

Well, there were rules for this sort of thing.

“Greetings, from the Federation of United Planets. We mean you no harm. We are a society built on peace, exploration, and unity. It is our honor, and privilege, to make contact with you. How do you do?” He added amiably. Pike extended his hand out towards one of them, before realizing that they seemed to be bound together with some kind of chain. “Well, that just won’t do. Give me a second, friends.”

He reached inside his bag and retrieved a small laser cutter. The arthropods, though remaining silent, were clearly unnerved by it, shuffling away from him. “Now, now, I’m not trying to hurt anyone.” The chain was drawn between his hand, and he quickly lased through it. “Isn’t that better?” He extended his hand back out to them. “It’s how we greet folks, where I’m from. Now, I’d love to know how you all greet people, but this conversation’s been a bit one sided.”

“Where is his shell?” One of the smaller arthropods asked in awe – a kid, maybe? And Pike turned towards them with a small smile. A larger one (a parent?) shushed him quickly, bidding him to be quiet.

“You got me. I left it at home, kid.”

Perhaps the largest one at all (and, if Pike was supposing correctly, maybe the oldest), shifted from his place. Pike reached forward to break the laser, and the arthropod waited patiently.

“I am the one of the leaders of this place,” he intoned, regarding Pike with a shrewd eye. “If this is a trick, or a game, we have been through enough. We will not engage with you. If you free us, we will be able to save ourselves on our own. I have one question for you: are you here to help us, or hurt us?”

“You were never supposed to be contacted. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.” It was _months _of surveillance and covert operations, followed by a year of delegations between the Admiralty to determine whether they were suitable for First Contact, and then the final, fragile decision to do so. “We’re here to help you, sir, however you want us to. You give me the command – my ship and crew are at your disposal.”

The elder seemed to consider it. Every eye in the shuttle was on him. After a moment’s consideration, the elder stuck out his arm. It ended in a dull point. Hoping to God that he wasn’t making some sort of social faux pas, Pike stuck out his hand, grasped the elder’s, and shook it.

“If you free us, we know the location of our weapons. It will be enough to ward off the slavers. There are not many in number, but we have been at peace for four hundred years – we have had no use for our weapons, and could not reach them before we were overwhelmed.” The elder took his hand back. “I would value you by my side. If you are the leader of your people, and your intentions are honest, I will consider it a sign of friendship between our two societies.”

Pike flashed him a grin. He spoke formally – the translator had a habit of erring on formality when it encountered new languages, or it could be intrinsic to the language. Pike himself had to restrain the urge to hug the guy. Instead, he went to work lasing the chains apart. As he did so, the elder spoke to the others.

“Tchchil, bring the children to the education centers. They will be safe there. If you find others who are sick or ill – Doctor Treth, medical should still be safe, if they have not been ransacked for supplies.”

“What about the softbody?” Someone (Treth) asked, and Pike perked up his head in curiosity. _Softbody? _

The elder turned towards him. “He does not look like you, but you may perhaps know where he came from. He collapsed on the floor, here, but the slavers attached him to the chains with us later. Tilk?”

In the corner, one arthropod moved their arms to reveal the figure they had been supporting. Spock was slumped against the arthropod, listless and not moving. He was streaked with green blood; Pike could see where it had dried on the side of his head, face, and neck. “He breathes,” Tilk murmured. Their arm was around Spock’s shoulders, keeping him upright. “But he is near death.”

Pike crept forward and freed Spock’s hands. One arm was put around the half-Vulcan’s shoulders, another went to his legs to pick him up. If he expected that to rouse him, he was disappointed. Spock was dead weight in his arms, surprisingly heavy. His head lolled limply against his shoulder.

He never liked crewmember death, which seemed almost insultingly obvious. But, in training and when he’d been under his own Captain, he still felt as if he _reacted _to crewmen death differently than others. Guilt flashed through his veins. _Look at what Spock could’ve been, _his brain snarled at him. _Look at what Spock was. And look, he probably won’t even make it to sickbay. You didn’t notice two missing crewmen for three days. What kind of Captain are you?_

“Spock,” he mumbled, cradling the lieutenant in his arms. He was so young. Couldn’t even have been 25 yet. “Lieutenant. You with me, still?”

The call of his title made Spock stir slightly in Pike’s arms, though not much. His eyes opened a slit, still unfocused, and looked around the metal interior of the shuttle and his Captain’s face. They soon drifted shut again. “Perm –” he mumbled out, voice thick and weak. “Permission to. Come aboard. Please?”

Pike would be _damned. _

He immediately turned around with Spock in his arms. Some green-stained bandage fluttered to the ground as he did so, and the smell of Spock’s wound was enough to bowl him over. _Disgusting. _Without another word to the elder, he walked out of the shuttle. The security team whirled around to face him, but immediately – their mouths gaped in shock. None of them had known the science officer particularly well, but to see him in such a state was nevertheless cause for alarm.

“Nguyen. Take him,” Pike commanded, voice firm. He passed the limp Vulcan over into Lieutenant Nguyen’s arms. “He needs to get to sickbay immediately. Go _now.” _ With that, Nguyen turned to reach for her comm-badge. She soon disappeared in a beam of light, and with her, so did Spock.

Personally, he wanted to go with Spock. He wanted to stand by the poor kid, hold his hand, make sure that he wasn’t scared or in pain up in sickbay. He was Spock’s first assignment, and Pike already wanted to keep him on the ship as long as possible.

But he was the Captain, and there was certain work he had to do. Right now, that work included some inter-species collaboration with striking down some slavers. He gripped his phaser and returned to the shuttle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Just a short author's note this time - thank you to everyone who's read, commented, or left kudos'ed - I read them all and appreciate every single one, absolutely love seeing people's reactions to different chapters. Only one more update left!


	20. Three Days Later

Spock wasn’t certain what he was expecting when he woke. He did not pay much thought as to life after death – he subscribed to Vulcan principles on the matter, of course, but he did not think much about what it would actually see, look, or feel like. And, as it turned out, that he didn’t have to. For this was not death, but the inside of the _Enterprise _sickbay. If the _Enterprise _sickbay _was _death, then Spock needed to have a word with someone.

“Look who’s awake,” Dr. McCoy grunted above him, and suddenly there was a bright light in his face. Spock made an uncomfortable noise and shut his eyes against the offense. “Open ‘em. I want to see the dilation of your eyes.”

It did not hurt as much as he thought it would, to open his eyes again. He reached up and ran his fingers along the back of his head. _That _hurt as much as he thought it would. Whining, Spock took his hand back and settled it on his stomach. “That hurts, doesn’t it? Don’t touch where it hurts, genius,” Bones mumbled as the light was taken away. Spock gratefully closed his eyes. “You were busted up so bad that I actually had to bandage you. I’m gonna give you another day before I give you another round to speed up regeneration. Alright, speak, I want to make sure you can still talk.”

“Speak what?” Spock muttered, exhausted and pained.

“Good. I don’t think you’re gonna suffer severe brain damage from this, but I’m having you in for weekly tests for the next six months. Nobody knows what the hell goes on in a Vulcan brain. Some of your cells might decide to jump ship.”

Six _months? _Spock shook his head and stifled another noise of pain. That was absurd. “Will be discharged,” he forced out, head settling on the pillow. “Before then.”

He was too tired and in too much pain to let it upset or depress him. Now, it seemed intangible and so very far away, and he had many more questions to answer first. Like how he’d gotten here, why he wasn’t dead, and, oh yes, there was an arthropod species down there that were in danger of becoming enslaved by Briori.

Bones hesitated. “Yeah, well,” he muttered at Spock’s assessment, before he made a noise of surprise and looked towards the sickbay door. “_Uh-uh. _You’re supposed to be on bedrest. Why the hell are you here?”

“Just checking up on Mr. Humpy Dumpy,” A familiar voice crowed out from the entrance of sickbay. Spock heard the clicking of Starfleet boots.

“It’s _Humpty Dumpty. _Humpy Dumpy is what you do to women.”

“I’m shocked and offended.” Jim stepped closer to the bed. “Is he awake?”

“Yes, Jim,” Spock murmured. Relief flooded through his veins. Jim had made it back to the starship – the Briori hadn’t just taken him to the next room and killed him. He cracked open his eyes to stare at Jim’s face, and indeed, there he was. Looking … fine. Very fine. Handsome, actually. And the light was framed behind his head in a very appealing way, and that _smile _definitely did things to the human part of his mind, and Jim was _happy to see him. _Spock didn’t return the smile, but he did open his eyes a little wider.

“Good. You know how long it’s been since you’ve been out?” Spock looked to Dr. McCoy for an answer and didn’t receive one. “Three days.”

_Three days. _Spock had been asleep for three days. He was suddenly snapped out of his lovesick state, looking at Jim in alarm. What had happened in three days? “The arthr-“

“Are fine. And they’re called the, um, I can’t really, without …” Jim pressed his index finger and thumb finger together multiple times. “Mandibles. Closest I can get is Klak. Klak people.”

“Klak,” Spock muttered to himself.

“Yeah. They’re fine. Pike, I’m told, worked together with their leader. And we’ve got, oh, about twelve Briori in our brig right now, to be transported to the nearest starbase for processing. They’re skulking and hissing, but the brig will hold. Seems like these were pretty prolific slavers. They’ll be glad to have them out of the galaxy. And the Klak only suffered the one death, the – the one we found? I told them where they were. They were grateful we tried to do something.”

Spock grunted in response. Good. It would be a bureaucratic nightmare, of course, because these species were not warp drive capable – even of space flight, at this moment. They were not meant to know of aliens quite yet. But the alternative was not helping this uncontacted species. Even if that technically obeyed the Prime Directive, it was … much, much worse.

“Pike’s considering putting them up for Federation status and everything. Which is, you know.” Jim puffed out his cheeks. “Crazy. It’s a shame that we won’t see it.”

Looking over to Jim in alarm, his friend put both his hands up in defense. “That’s just me foreseeing the future. I’ve been in sickbay, same as you, and I haven’t seen anything from Pike in the last few days. I don’t know when he’s gonna come in.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Jim,” Bones warned, tapping on a PADD. The light in the room dimmed. “You don’t know what the Captain is gonna do.”

“_Uh, _yeah, Bones. Let’s pretend – let’s just pretend you were Captain for a second, okay? Two punk-nosed kids steal a shuttle while on vacation, crash land on a planet, nearly kill each other about a dozen times, and then nearly get killed. I don’t even know how many Starfleet regulations –”

“_Fifty-seven.” _

“_Thanks! _Thank you, thank you so much, Spock, okay, _fifty-seven _Starfleet regulations, Bones. What would you do?”

Bones pulled a face at Jim, punching him somewhat in the shoulder. Jim winced and rubbed the affected area. “Sorry.”

“Keep trying to be optimistic. Helps your blood pressure. Alright, you try and stay awake for as long as you can, hobgoblin. I’m going to keep your vitals monitored until then. I’ve got some of the Klak to help with – shit-ton of their medical supplies got stolen.”

Spock felt a biomonitor get placed around his wrist as Bones wandered off, and suddenly, he was left alone with Jim. His head fell onto the pillow, giving Jim a knowing look.

“Yeah, buddy,” Jim sighed out. He sat back in the chair and folded his arms behind his head. “We’re fucked. But – we did the right thing. I mean, not all the time. But, in the end, when it’s all said and done, we did _mostly _the right thing.”

“My conscience is clear.” It was. If they had not gone down in the shuttle, they would not have found the Klak, and their species would have been doomed. Even if he didn’t particularly want to explain to his mother that he had lasted less than ten years in Starfleet … it was a worthy cost. Spock mused somewhat for a moment, before diverging: “I have decided what I am going to do, now. I am not going to return to Vulcan.”

Jim looked utterly delighted for a moment, and then quickly squashed his enthusiasm. Spock was not experienced enough in such matters to determine why that was.

“Yeah? Not going to marry your bondmate?”

“No. For one, Vulcans do not marry. For two, I have logically decided that it would be a disgrace to her family if she were to bond with someone that had dishonored both Vulcan _and _Starfleet. For that reason, I am also not going to bond with T’Pris.”

“You said _logically. _Is there an _illogical _reason?”

Spock paused in thought, eyes searching over Jim’s face. He remembered kissing him, tasting the ash and heat. Too much heat. And yet, even when everything seemed lost, Jim had been utterly _thrilled _by the embrace. By _him, _even if Spock had been filthy and concussed. Jim liked him for who he was, without any alteration or performing.

“Yes. I am not, as you stated, _into _them.”

Jim tilted his head back and laughed until no more sound came out, his head settling on the side of his bed. “Spock,” he chided, tears in his eyes from the effort, “That’s the most logical thing you’ve ever said. What are you gonna – I mean, what’s the plan?”

“I am educated to at least the level of your Human doctoral degrees. I will become an educator on Earth. Somewhere.” Perhaps Colorado Springs. He had heard good things from his mother about Colorado Springs. And perhaps that could delay the inevitable disappointing his parents in person – after all, he had no reason to return to Vulcan.

“Yeah? Maybe I can come visit. Two Starfleet exiles, partners in crime,” Jim wistfully crooned.

It was not the best plan, nor one that filled him with any sort of enthusiasm. It was simply the best plan in a bad situation. Any other places would make him unbearably miserable, and Spock knew now that he could not stuff that misery down behind the cool lens of logic. Whether it was because he was Human, or Vulcans were more emotionally fallible than he was led to believe, Spock knew he could not pretend he was detached from the situation.

Still, though, if Jim was going to visit him … he would like that.

“Wait, okay, so I’ve got one question for you. Something that I don’t understand in all of this, but my memory is super blurry towards the end.” Jim scooted his chair closer to Spock’s bed. “How did you convince them to beam me back up here? They said we both had to agree, and I never would’ve.”

Ah. Spock cleared his throat. Jim was close, now, leaning so far forward that his chest pressed against the bed. “I waited until you were so afflicted that you could not do much more than mumble my name when I spoke to you. The Briori took that as consent.”

“Wow. Dick.” There was no real venom in it, but merely light-hearted teasing. “I guess it was a little clever of you. Kind of embarrassing that I kept saying your name over and over, though.”

“More embarrassing than when you embraced me, believing that you were sacrificing yourself?”

Jim went dark red.

“You do not need to apologize, Jim. Humans are dramatic by nature. You even stated, during the edges of your consciousness, that you were _interested in me_. I did not take it to heart.” _Lying is not natural to Vulcans, _Spock heard his mother’s voice telling him. “You were delirious.”

“I don’t – god,” Jim complained, reaching up and scrubbing the back of his head. His gaze was fixed on the medical readouts above Spock. “I’m not going to look you in the eyes when I say this. But I wasn’t exactly, you know. _Lying. _I am, and maybe it’s island fever or maybe it’s real or maybe I don’t know, but I am _definitely _into you.”

Spock’s body was too beaten and bruised to feel much more than a painful surge of pleasure, “You are … interested. In actuality.”

“Yeah. Happened sometime down there. I realized that we’re actually a lot alike, and you’re a really good guy, which is one of our differences, and …” Jim coughed. “I like you. Worst time to admit it. I know.”

“Think on our past three days. Is it _truly _the worst time to admit it?” Spock asked him, voice lightly cajoling. “_Really?” _

Jim let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, guess so. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I mean, not only is there everything going on, but I’m going to hazard a guess and say that you’re _way _out of my league.”

The irrationality of it was astounding. So astounding, in fact, that Spock’s control cracked and he smiled. It sent low, thudding pain throughout his head, but Jim was being so _ridiculous. _“Jim. I _attacked _you on the planet.”

“Let’s be honest, I constantly deserve to be slapped around a little. Bones wants to choke me on an hourly basis.”

That made Spock chuckle softly. Jim was a good man. Great, truly, and Spock was displeased that he would not be in his company for much longer. His eyes wistfully travelled over the man’s form as he thought about what could have been. Perhaps, he considered, he was fortunate nonetheless. Many Vulcans did not allow themselves to feel like this, at all.

Spock raised his hand and stuck two fingers out. “In Vulcan culture,” he explained, “A romantic embrace – equivalent to a human kiss – is shared by two parties pressing their index and middle fingers against their partner’s.” He extended it out to Jim.

Jim raised his head in surprise, seeing Spock offer the gesture. He looked between his fingers, and then to Spock, and it made him sad to think that Jim was considering if this was some sort of trick. Nonetheless, Jim deemed it an acceptable risk. He raised his fingers appropriately and pressed them against Spock’s.

Oh, Jim _adored _him.

A flush settled over his face at the sensation of it. Jim was exhausted, yes, worried, yes, stressed, yes, but beneath it all, Spock could feel the intensity and passion of Jim’s emotions for him. The idea of leaving Spock was heartbreaking, and Spock wanted to do all he could to fix it.

“You should know by now,” Spock murmured, “That I am into you, as well.”

Jim flushed. Good, it was good that they would be on equal grounds. He coughed to hide it, but eventually pulled his fingers away. Spock immediately wanted to reach out and capture them again, but restrained himself. “So does that mean, all the times I touched your hand down there, we were kind of making out?”

Usually, by now, Spock would have been mortified by the humanity of his gestures. A smile, a laugh, and now he uncontrollably rolled his eyes at Jim at the comment. He would compose himself later, when he was not in quite so much pain and not quite so scared about his future. Now, Spock was comfortable in his own skin.

Only Jim was here, now, and Spock was not concerned with how Jim saw him. After all, he had felt it himself. “Do not flatter yourself,” he repeated with a smile, and Jim reached for his fingers again.


	21. Meanwhile ...

Spock was awake. Pike had gotten the alert on his communicator while he’d been in conference with Chak, who (only admitted after hours and hours of talking with him) was the leader of the Klak people. Sometimes he was with other officers (the other xenoanthropologists had taken a book’s worth of notes, it seemed like), sometimes he was alone, like now. He quickly placed his communicator upside down and shot a smile to the leader.

“Just got word that Spock is awake. He pulled through.”

The arthropod nodded in understanding. “Good. Your ship should not have to suffer a death. Visit with him. We can resume our discussion later.”

“You sure? You’ve met Bones, he’s probably the best chief medical officer in the ‘Fleet. He can’t be in better hands.”

“It is not as if there is nothing to do. We must rebuild, and destroy what injustices the Briori have placed upon us.” Pike figured he was talking about the jail cells, mostly – although they used the volcano as a source for their thermal energy, as far as he could figure, formal incarceration was not conducted there. Too hot. “You should pass along my thanks to him and his human companion, for paying respects to a member of our dead. It was a noble gesture.”

“Spock’s a pretty noble guy,” Pike agreed. “I’ll sit with him for a while, see how he’s doing. And then you gotta tell me more about your species. I mean, we’ve been talking for days and I’ve only _just _learned that you have wings!?”

Chak tilted his head to the side. His mandibles were pried open wide, in a gesture that Pike now realized was similar to a grin – though it’d been terrifying the first time he’d seen it. “Your species do not?”

“Okay, okay. Smart aleck. We’ll talk later.” Pike ended the call and stood. As soon as his back was to the viewscreen, his face contorted into misery.

He’d been thinking for days about what to do with them. Part of him just wanted to ignore the whole thing and pretend like it never happened. He got the _spirit _of what they were doing, but at the end of the day, they’d disobeyed direct orders and wrecked a shuttle. They’d completely defied the chain of command. They nearly got themselves killed. If he just let that be, he knew Admiralty would pounce on them in a second, and they’d be a thousand times worse to the poor kids.

And they were just kids, really. Young, even if they’d seen (and been) through some shit.

But they’d gotten an entire species saved, though indirectly. That _had _to count for something.

Pike approached the sickbay and peered inside. It was only those two there - he figured Leonard was off helping with the medical supplies for the Klak. They hadn’t noticed him yet. Spock was _smiling, _god damn it, of all things, and then he heard an honest-to-god _laugh _come out of him. Jim had said something funny, even if he couldn’t make out their words. And then, peering out the corner, Pike saw Spock stick out his two fingers and Jim returned the gesture. Pike had spent enough time around the Vulcan lieutenant to know what that meant.

_Oh, and of course they’ve fallen in love. Of goddamn course. _

He let them be content with each other for a few minutes. Pike hated this part of the job in particular. They weren’t bad guys. They were exceptional crewmembers. And by the time Pike walked into the sickbay, he still hadn’t decided what he was going to do.

“Captain!” Spock startled first. He yanked his fingers away from Jim and folded them on his lap. It would have been the picture of propriety, if Spock’s cheeks weren’t bright green. Jim responded by leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other, as if it was an utterly normal place for him to be.

“I – I’m just visiting, Captain, I know I’m supposed to be resting, but I’m feeling okay, and –“ Jim broke himself off. “Just wanted to check in. On him. That’s all.”

“Yeah, son, I know.” Pike reached for a chair and pulled it around. He sat on it backwards, leading against the back of it as he inspected the bedridden Vulcan. “How’re you feeling, Lieutenant?”

Spock considered it for a moment. “Well,” he eventually said. “The pain is not difficult to partition, even if I am experiencing some stiffness.”

Jim suddenly shot a look to Spock, and Spock’s returned look was severe. Pike had a feeling that he was missing a dirty joke, and he cleared his throat. Both pairs of eyes shot back to him. “You know what we have to talk about, boys. I’m not gonna make you do it now, but it’s gonna be soon. Just wanted to check in on you, Spock, that’s all.”

He made a move to get up and Spock suddenly shot his hand out, palm facing him. “No. We can do it now.” His voice was firm. “If Lieutenant Kirk agrees.”

Jim wasn’t meeting his eyes, but nonetheless nodded. “Yeah. Let’s get it over with.”

That was, roughly speaking, Pike’s philosophy for the situation. He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face to prepare himself. “If I followed Starfleet regulations down to the letter, you boys both know what would happen. Nearest starbase, court martial, and you’d be out. You’re aware of that?”

They both nodded at him.

“And, I don’t know, maybe that’s what I _should _be doing. You boys stole an entire goddamn shuttle, I don’t even know _how, _crashed it, nearly got yourself killed, violated the Prime Directive – “

“Alright, let’s not go that far, we did save – “

“_Jim!” _

Pike was glaring at Jim venomously. Spock had reached over to put a hand on Jim’s shoulder to stop him, at clearly some personal injury to himself. “You did violate it, Jim. We’re not gonna mince words. But, yeah, you’re right. You did end up saving an entire species from being enslaved. And _you,” _Pike turned to Spock, “Technically did make First Contact for Starfleet. That’s not something small. Most crewmen are lucky if they make anyone on their _ship _makes First Contact.”

Spock nodded solemnly.

“I’m not saying anything _cancels _out. But I _am _saying, if I explain to the Admiralty what you boys discovered, then _maybe _they won’t flip their lids when I tell them that I want you to stay.”

“Stay?” Unusually, it was Spock who broke in, his voice an octave higher than normal.

“Yes, Lieutenant. I want you both on my ship. But I’m not letting you off scott-free. I need your boys’ oath – I don’t want you doing anything so stupid again. You’ve got to tell me these things. I’m your Captain. I’m the one who makes the big decisions around here. When you both are Captain and have your own ship, _you _make the big decisions. But the only thing that keeps this ship from turning into a zoo is the chain of command. You understand?”

They both nodded like bobbleheads. Pike didn’t think Jim was breathing. “Promise me, boys.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Chris, I promise.” “You have my word, Captain.”

“Good.” Pike ran his hands over his face. “Normally, I would put you at the bottom of the promotion list..” Spock’s mouth was already open to correct him. “But you boys just got promoted. You’re already at the bottom. So I’m going to _keep _you there for another few months. You’re also both placed on report for six months. Either one of you put one toe out of line, and we’re going to have to seriously reconsider you being on this ship. The _Enterprise _is for the best of the best.”

Six months was a godawfully long time to be on report. Spock wouldn’t have a problem with it. His record had been flawless before he came on. Jim, though, was going to have a goddamn doozy of a time with it. Hopefully Spock could keep him in line. He had no doubts.

“You boys understand?

Again, they perfected their bobblehead impression. Jim spoke up first. “Chris – Captain Pike,” he corrected himself. “Thank you, sir. You’ve got no idea what Starfleet means to me. A-and Spock,” he tacked on, sparing a glance for his friend. His voice went quieter. “I didn’t want to go back to Iowa.”

“Nor I to Vulcan, sir.” Spock agreed somberly. “My place is aboard the _USS Enterprise, _and I apologize for my behavior.”

“I’m just that much of a bad influence, huh?” Jim’s quip was directed quickly to Spock, who shot him another glare. Pike wasn’t a mind-reader, but he knew what was going through Spock’s mind right now, staring at Jim’s half smirk – _Not now, ass. _

Pike stood up from the chair and brushed his hands together. “And we want to keep you both here. I wish half my crew had your drive. Spock, you rest up. Jim, don’t bother him while he’s sleeping. Just keep your noses clean.”

They both responded with an immediate ‘yes, sir’, though Spock’s affirmative clearly had a question mark at the end.

As Pike left the sickbay, he still wasn’t sure whether he made the right decision. He was confident in one thing, though. Either those two were going to be the best Captains that Starfleet had ever seen, or he’d be testifying at their court martials in a couple of years. It was a gamble, for certain, but risk was their business.


	22. Six Months Later ...

Spock woke naturally on Jim’s chest, his boyfriend’s heartbeat a thudding drum against his ear. Their hands were still intertwined, folded high above their heads. He’d lost feeling in his arm before he’d even fallen asleep, but he didn’t pull away just yet. Opening his eyes, Spock could see the remnants of their chess game in the middle of their room.

They had played their game for a long while, before he had noticed that Jim was looking at _him _more than the pieces, and then Jim was reaching for _him _instead of reaching for his piece. One thing led to another. Spock closed his eyes languidly. _He likely did so because he knew his loss was imminent, _Spock thought to himself.

With no small effort, Spock lowered his arm and pressed Jim’s knuckles against his lips. With Jim’s blanket covering his back and Jim himself covering his front, Spock was perfectly warm, even if the temperature of the room was a few degrees colder than he normally preferred. If anything, it acted as strong persuasion against getting up. Spock nuzzled his cheek against Jim’s chest, opening his eyes again.

Beyond the unfinished chess game, Spock could see his bed. He tried to think of when he had slept in it last. Perhaps two weeks ago, when Jim had been working the Delta shift and Spock had spent the evening alone. He had debated on crawling into Jim’s bed anyway (as he’d gotten quite used to it), but the last time he’d done that, Jim hadn’t noticed his presence and had collapsed _onto _him at a very early hour.

He simply no longer liked falling asleep in his own bed, when he could open his eyes and see paradise just across their room, tucked in his blankets and staring right back.

Spock had ended his betrothal to T’Pring before he and Jim were even formally together, though he had not brought him up to her. Regardless of their relationship status, Spock was firm in his decision not to bond with T’Pring. Even if he had no longer brought shame to Starfleet, Jim’s assertion was correct: even as a Vulcan, he wanted to be happy with his life, and bonding with T’Pring would not make him happy.

He had also turned down T’Pris’ offer for a bonding, though he _had _brought Jim up to her. T’Pris had considered it for a few moments, before remarking that it was a surprising turn of events but she wished Spock the best fortune. Spock agreed with her wholeheartedly and returned the gesture. He still considered her a friend, and as he and Jim’s relationship had went on, she had changed her stance. Just last month, she had informed him that she had made an error: although she initially considered it a surprising action, now she could see that Jim and Spock’s relationship was actually completely logical.

Spock agreed with her, again. They were suited towards one another in all ways.

Most ways. Jim’s actions and behavior occasionally aggravated him, but that was easily forgotten when he was tucked in Jim’s bed, resting on top of his boyfriend.

Spock was uncertain if bonding was in their future. He wanted to, but commitment was still a fear in Jim’s mind, he could feel. Very well. Spock was not going to press him on it until a few more months had passed, when Jim felt more comfortable with Spock’s permanence. After all, Spock thought smugly as he snuggled further against Jim’s chest, _he was not going anywhere. _

From on the nightstand beside Jim’s bed, one of their comm-badges chirped. They were resting against one another.

Jim groaned underneath him, loudly, roused from sleep.

“It is mine, ashaya,” Spock murmured, voice still rough. It was a skill that he had honed, since Jim was never particularly careful about where he placed their comm-badges and they were difficult to tell apart. At least he had enough foresight to place them on the table – their first few couplings, Spock had to fumble for them somewhere in Jim’s bedding.

Jim groaned again. “How do you _know _that?”

“Repetition.” His fingers closing around the comm-badge, Spock shifted onto his back. Their intertwined hands were still together. Spock rested them on his chest. Good, he was starting to get the feeling back in his fingers, and with that, he could feel Jim’s sleepy contentment seep in. He could’ve predicted that. He’d been around Jim so frequently that it was not hard to predict his emotional patterns. “Lieutenant Spock here.”

“Lieutenant Spock.” T’Pris. “I realize your shift does not begin for another 2.4 hours. However, I am requesting your presence with computer modifications in the botany labs. The recent samples we have brought in require more precise humidity determinations than our current system allows, and it is adversely affecting their growth.”

Somewhere in her explanation, Jim had started kissing his neck. A few months ago, Spock would have been unnecessarily distracted by it. Now, he only settled into Jim’s chest as he listened.

“Understood. Grant me five minutes.” Beneath him, he felt Jim flare in displeasure.

There was a pause before the comm-badge chirped in again. “Very well. Wish Lieutenant Kirk a good morning, on my behalf.”

Jim chuckled. Concern flared through Spock again: _had T’Pris heard something? _Yes, their relationship was common knowledge, but if she heard Jim kissing his neck or his breathing or _anything _over the comm-badge, he was positively certain that he was going to expire from it. Heart problems were common in Vulcans, perhaps that was how he would go. Then again, it was also common knowledge that they shared quarters, so perhaps it was nothing at all.

Perhaps he would share lunch with her, to find out. He was somewhat uncomfortable sharing specifics about the physical aspects of his relationship with others, but T’Pris would not hesitate to bring it up to him if she heard.

_Or, _alternatively, he could bring up her romantic fascination with one of the scientists in the laboratory. That was less personally embarrassing – for him, at any rate.

“Understood,” Spock repeated into the comm-badge as he placed it to the side. It didn’t matter, anyway. He dropped Jim’s hand (_go back, _Spock’s heart cried out to him, _I like it there) _and got up from the bed, to Jim’s dismay.

“You know, I can do a lot in five minutes,” Jim coaxed, turning onto his side and propping his head up to watch Spock dress himself. “If you want to come back to bed.”

“Excellent. Then find my other boot.”

There was a grumpy pause, before Jim sighed. “It’s underneath your bed. I chucked it last night.”

“Why would you –” But indeed, there it was. Spock got on his knees and drug it out from underneath the bed. He quickly brushed his teeth against the doorframe of the bathroom. Jim watched him from his bed, still naked and tangled up in sheets. Spock did not want to go, not when his official shift time wasn’t for another few hours.

But he still had his duties. And Jim would always be there when he returned. Spock did not have to give anything up to be with him, and that suited him exceptionally well.”

Spitting out the toothpaste in the sink, he heard Jim call out from the bedroom. “I’ll forgive you for abandoning me so early _if _you promise to celebrate with me tonight.”

Spock stuck his head out from the doorframe. “Celebrate? What is the occasion?” Jim’s important dates were all etched into his mind – it was not his birthday, nor their anniversary, nor any Human holiday that he could recognize.

Jim pressed one hand to his chest, astonished. Spock reached for his comm-badge and clipped it on his chest. “The _best _holiday. Happy no-longer-on-report day, babe.”

Oh. It _had _been six months, hadn’t it? Spock blinked in surprise. Six months since he had been told that he could stay on the Enterprise, with his love. It seemed like so much longer ago than six months. Spock was pleased at that – if only six months felt like a lifetime, then he was thrilled that he had a lifetime to go with Jim.

“If this has been your behavior on-report, I shudder to think what your behavior will look like off it.” Spock teased lovingly, fixing the sleeves of his shirt. Jim pulled a mock-offended face. He crossed over to Jim’s bed again. His heels clicked on the floor. Leaning down, Spock ran his hand through his lover’s hair. Jim’s arm went around his waist, half-leaning up from the bed. “I apologize, but I must leave you now.”

Typically, he expected Jim to make some sort of joke then. A complaint that Spock was leaving him high-and-dry, or that he didn’t expect Spock to be the one night stand type, or that if Spock left his number on the nightstand, he’d definitely call later. There was none of that today. Instead, Jim’s face was open and vulnerable as he looked up at his lover. “I’ll miss you today.”

Spock was fiercely in love with him, every part of his mind in harmonious agreement about the matter.

He reached for Jim’s hand and held it, electricity passing between them. “And I will miss you,” Spock promised firmly. His knuckles were pressed against his lips, and then Spock leaned forward to kiss his wrist. “Keeper – “ His shoulder. “Of – “ His neck. “My – “ Spock’s lips found Jim’s own. It lasted a few seconds before Spock pulled away unwillingly. “Heart.”

Jim grinned sleepily up at Spock, fingers running over the front of his uniform. “Love of my life,” he repeated. More cliché, perhaps, more traditional and more human – but it thrilled Spock just the same. “Go on, Ears. I know it’s been about five minutes.”

Perhaps, if he were fortunate, he could burn the image of Jim waiting in bed in his brain for the rest of the day. Either way, he had his duties to perform. He straightened up and, with a passing glance to Lieutenant (junior grade) Kirk, Lieutenant (also junior grade) Spock left for the science labs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! Thank you for those who have stuck along with me for every update - to everyone who have read, kudos'ed, or commented on this island fever fic!


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